A Pleasant Lie
by ATmac05
Summary: Fran is a Viera, that as much we know. But what of the rest of her story? How did she meet Balthier? How did she learn to use a Bow? Are there any male vieras? And why did she leave her homeland in the firstplace? This is her story.
1. The Intricacy's First Lesson

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ATmac05: Man, I'm so addicted to Final Fantasy XII right now that it's ridiculous. And like most other writers obsessed with their current favorite (insert category of Fanfiction here), they are inclined to write about them. So I chose to start a story about Fran, because she's my favorite character right now. Cool, calm, collective, elegant…and a nice ass. So without further adieu, the first chapter of "A Pleasant Lie".**

**Disclaimers: **Now you know I don't own Final Fantasy XII! Why do I have to put this?

**Spoilers: **Not really anything you don't find out in the first five minutes of entering Fran's homeland. One big one but not really major to plot is Fran's relationship to Jote.

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_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter One**_

_**Male Vieras: The Intricacy's First Lesson**_

"To be of woman, whether thine art viera or an impurity species, embodies the essence of nurture, care, and love. Thy species' female, represents the intent and blessing of the Wood. Therefore as proclaimed by the will of the Wood—male birth is a sin and therefore prohibited."_--Intricacy 1:1_

Fran could never count the days wherein that lesson had been brought to her attention. It was the first lesson of the Intricacy, and therefore was the most significant. Contrary to what many Humes believed and debated upon, male Vieras did exist in the Wood. Though for only as long as necessary. Once they were of age and strong, they were forced to mate with a suggested ratio of Vieran females, and after said quota were filled with successful pregnancies, the males were sentenced to death. Or "purity" as the Intricacy put it.

Fran remembered this lesson well, for it lingered in her heart and soul since she was the age of fifteen.

* * *

Fran awoke that morning in a state of anxiousness and unrest for her ceremonial crimsoning. Being that today were her birthday and she was legally a Vieran adult, it was only suitable that she be granted this rite of passage. So with a smile, the tall and elegant Viera rose from her cushiony bed and over to the mirror that spanned the Hollow of her tree.

Ivory hair in ruffles and violent entanglements fell about her shoulders. It cascaded almost to the floor and yet still managed to become bed hair every morn. The young Fran could barely blink before her hands instinctively darted for the ornate comb resting on a nearby end table. With the speed of a panther and the sharpness of a eagle, she strung the comb throughout her hair until it was silky smooth, and then quickly looped the now untangled strands through the ring clip she was to wear for the ceremony. She sighed in relief as the silvery ponytail fell to her back—and she smiled. If she had to say so herself, "I look gorgeous today!"

"Conceitedness is not a virtue of the wood." A strong voice said. Fran turned to see a stern face peering back at hair. The Viera's hair fell to her shoulders, and she strode toward Fran with the ease of a gazelle, and the legs to match. The tall woman stopped before her younger sister, and folded her arms. Fran regretted that in her haste to become prepped, she had failed to hear Jote's footsteps.

"I apologize, sister." Fran said. "'Thine's conceit and pride shall lead to thy doom.' Intricacy Chapter 5, Verse 45." Fran recited scripture to repent for her sin, a way taught much through the Wood.

"Excellent. You make your sister proud." Jote replied with a smile. Fran wondered why for one so serious, how Jote had a smile that could light many a Hollow. "But one other inquiry, why is it that your hair has gotten so long? Didn't Verna assign an appointment for you yet?"

Fran stiffened. Verna had approached Fran many times, it was just that Fran refused to go to her Cutting Appointments. To lie was a sin of the Wood as well, but she would repent later. "No she hasn't sister, but please do not scold her! I'm sure she has been very busy as of late."

"If it is what you wish, Fran. But make sure that you get one scheduled." Jote turned towards the door. "We can't have you having ridiculously long hair, that is a vanity of the Humes, and I will not allow it. Rather—an apprentice priestess—will not allow it. As for sister side of me, I quite like the look on you." Jote's brightening smile flashed once again as she left the Hollow and proceeded down the stairs into further branches of the tree.

When her sister was completely gone from sight, Fran turned back toward the mirror and fought back tears. Why did it have to be her hair? She loved it too much. Surely long nails would be another vanity of the Humes? Why couldn't those be what was necessary to destroy?

Fran stayed in that state of sorrow for a few moments before straightening up and finishing her preparations. To wear she chose her best outfit that accentuated her beauty. The dress was very short and thin, its base rested at the very peak of her thighs, narrowed into a thin strand that inclined up her belly and then finally expanded and covered her breasts. She wore a heavy sash around her waist to cover her backside. By hume standards the dress is what you would call…revealing…but to emphasize female beauty within tasteful limits was what the Vierans prided on. When Fran was ready, she gathered a few ritualistic bangles and necklaces, and headed into the Village.

Eruyt Village was uncharacteristically lively that morning. All the Vieras had on their best dresses in all sorts of colors, and despite the cold nature of the Vieras many had smiles upon their faces. Their foreheads were adorned with all kinds of crystals and malboro vines, and even their walk had an extra bounce to it. From the citizens of Eruyt you could see that the Wood was singing abundantly with joy.

Not knowing specifically when the ceremony would start, Fran quickly made her way to the plaza. She was greeted with many praises and gracious "hellos" as she traveled.

"Tis impossible to be the apprentice priestess's younger sister in this place." She thought as she traveled up tall spiraling stairs to the centre of the village. The environment was even heavily laced with white flowers and tassels to commemorate the Coming of Age event. Fran became giddy with excitement as she saw them and began to move even more briskly toward her destination. The day was going to be gloriously perfect.

"_Attention all honorees, if you are in the vicinity please hurry to the plaza for the ceremony will begin momentarily._"

The announcement came just as Fran reached the top of the stairs and she bolted without hesitation northward toward the Peak Plaza where the ritual would occur. She was glad that she had opted to not wear footwear for she surely would've been slowed greatly. Especially since the closer she got to the plaza the more crowded it became, and she found herself pushing mercilessly through the throngs of women before emerging smack dab in the front of a stage where several young girls stood.

Her sister at the head of them gave Fran an evil eye as she climbed atop the stage and took her place in line. Fran stood at attention facing the crowd, but she briefly had glanced at the other girls along with her and she could see that it was about seven of them.

Jote ignored her sister's mishap and spun around to face the crowd. She stood in front of the girls, the tallest among them, and began to recite scripture in another tongue. Finally she said to the populace.

"Welcome brethren, to the Coming of Age ceremony. Where the wonderful young Vieran girls behind me have become young Vieran women today!"

That elicited a loud roar from the crowd that made Fran sensitive ears vibrate.

Her sister continued. "These girls have been chosen for this ceremony not only because of their common birthdays, but their overall agreement with the Wood."

This was true. Fran mused. It was many other Viera's who turned fifteen that day, but the seven girls with her had something extra special that supposedly made them worthy of the ceremony.

Jote continued speaking after she had received a scroll from a random Viera.

"We have Nashira of the East Algeir Hollow!"

She was the first Viera that year to memorize all the texts of the Vieran Intricacy. Fran remembered.

"Nori of the Northwest Blue Hollow!"

She had killed off several Panthers when they had found their way out of the Jungle into the Village.

"Exclipsesia of the Southeast Gypsoan Hollow!"

She was the sister of the current priestess.

"Halina of the East Algeir Hollow!"

Fran recalled Halina starting a small group that helped revive many of the dead plants that had stricken the Golmore Jungle. This was a small feat, but apparently the Wood had become delighted in this task.

"Csi of the South Green Hollow!"

When a rogue Hume had entered the village and stolen Vieran artifacts, Csi's mother tracked him down and retrieved the stolen items. She asked that her honor be granted by allowing her daughter to participate in the ceremony.

"Hefni of the Southwest Uspi Hollow!"

Fran had often been jealous of Hefni for she was tallest Viera of her age group.

"Annisca of the Northeast Near Hollow!'

Fran couldn't remember why Annisca was being honored.

"And my wonderful sister, Fran of the Northwest Blue Hollow!"

Fran had to keep from smiling when she got the loudest roar. She was immensely popular among the village, merely because she was the sister of an apprentice-priestess but she cared little. Praise was praise, plus, she had many friends who paid little attention to her lineage so her popularity was justified by other means.

Jote closed the scroll and muttered another speech layered in so many big words that it went right over Fran's head. Instead she focused her attention on the girls next to her. Astoundingly beautiful, and all of them taller then she; Fran suddenly felt a heavy sense of inadequateness standing next to them. The pride and vanity she had indulged in earlier had all but become disheveled, and it fragmented even more when she noticed the next feature.

All of their breasts were larger than hers; she looked so young compared to them.

Finally Jote finished her speech and she spun her heels to gaze upon the girls. When she noticed Fran, her eyes paused a bit before averting.

"May the Will of the Wood always guide you, may your future days be blessed, and now without further prolonging. You gift will be brought to you."

Fran's ears twitched upon hearing this. She had never been to a ceremony and her sister refused to give her the details about previous ones, so the idea of a gift never crossed her mind. Would it be beautiful jewelry adorned with all kinds of crystals and vines? Fran thought. She could wear them at every event or at the weekly Intricacy teaching. Or, maybe they would be clothing. That revealed all but the most intricate of her features. That would surely make her feel beautiful. Yet maybe it would be something even more great, like her own tree to have a hollow in or a…

"Bring them in!" Jote called out.

_Them_? Fran thought. That was a pronoun she was little expecting. A pet perhaps?

At that moment a nearby tree near them began to shake from inside. It was a small vibrating meaning that only the entrance of a Hollow was about to be opened. Surely enough the archway of the Hollow appeared and revealed darkness from within. Fran, the other honorees, and the crowd watch in anxiousness to see what would be unearthed. And only when a Viera came out from the darkness clutching the beginnings of a long chain did the entire viewing body gasp with shock.

One by one, attached to one another at the neck and ankle by chain did they come from within. Fran grew excited yet scared at the same time, she knew of their existence, and that they were being held somewhere in the village, but she had never viewed one wit her own eyes.

Male Vieras.

There were eight of them, led by a tall and burly Vieran woman, and followed by one of equal girth and ferocity. The males were taller than any Viera Fran had seen, but not grotesquely so. They wore loincloths, (to cover what Fran did not know, such teachings were forbidden) and their chests were exposed, surprisingly. But Fran noticed once they neared them that the chests were almost completely flat and that their nipples lacked the size of Vieran women. The most key feature about them were their ears, they were much larger than those of the female, and instead of being pointed upward, drooped down to the sides and rotated so that the inside of the ear was visible.

"Your gift." Jote said to the girls. "You get a night of ceremonial consecration as outlined in the Intricacy. This night will be your entrance to womanhood, enjoy it, and become seeded with a new life to bring into the Wood. But careful my fellow Vieras, do not become accustomed to this ritual, for to do this outside of this ceremony is a sin that will result in death by the Wood. Ladies, tell me Intricacy 7: 12!"

Fran had been prepared, and stated it aloud with the other girls. "Thy shalt not indulge in manners of the flesh, for thine flesh is the temple of the Wood not to be tainted by lust of the enemy."

Jote clapped her hands. "Excellent my virtuous souls of the earth! Now, please pick your enemy to purify."

Fran felt uneasy at that very moment. For she felt a sense of unnatural attraction to all of the males that stood before her. They were so different, and therefore appealing. For them to be considered enemies baffled her, but still she took a minute to scan all the males. Most of them were thin and sinewy, while a few were a bit more bulky than the rest. Fran saw several of the girls dart their eyes toward the muscled ones, but she felt herself liking the leaner males. One in particular, he had seen her looking at him and quickly turned his eyes away, and Fran swore she saw a tint of red appear in the white of his ears. He was shorter than the others, but still very tall compared to her, and his hair was not completely silver. In fact it had a few strands of black within. A gene only common to males Fran assumed. He looked young, and he had bright green-orange eyes. Something about his face appealed to Fran, and she couldn't quite think of a word to describe it.

"Please point to the impure entity you request girls." Jote commanded.

All the girls pointed simultaneously, the majority of them picked the same male and all had to eventually point elsewhere. The other honorees whispered amongst themselves violently before Jote had to step in and scold them. Fran was the only one who had picked the male she had found interest in. And when all was settled, the crowd cheered and the girls were sent back to their Hollows.

* * *

When the sun had gone down, and Fran had rested for several hours on a new bed she had received for some reason. There was a bell chiming at the entrance to her hollow. Signaling someone wanted entry. When Fran answered the door, wearing the silk white knee length gown as given and instructed by Jote, she saw a Vieran soldier, with the young male Fran had chosen standing behind her.

"This is the one you requested," said the Viera. "May you have a peaceful night." The female turned and shoved the young man into the room, and he fell onto the ground. "Treat Fran with respect, for her lineage is a great one." With that the Viera bowed her head in respect to Fran and left the room.

The young male lay against the ground, showing no emotion in his face, and not moving, he wore no chains, but still laid on his side with his ankles together. Fran felt immensely melancholy as she watched him lie there. She knelt down and rubbed him bare arm, but he still did not flinch.

"Are you okay?" Fran asked.

The young male merely nodded.

"Are you hurt?" She asked again.

He shook his head.

"Then why won't you rise?"

The Vieran male shrugged his shoulders, and then abruptly turned to lie on his back. His green-orange eyes stared up at the ceiling.

"You may not believe this," his voice was soft and deep, "but this is the most comfortable floor I've ever lie upon. I somewhat, don't want to get up." What he said seemed to be a joke, but the lack of cynicism in his voice proved he was not speaking facetiously.

Fran still tried to return with a joke. "If you think this is nice, you should try the bed." Her young pure mind could never realize the sensuality in her statement at that time.

"We'll get there soon enough." The boy replied. "I want to enjoy the few moments I have."

"What do you mean?" Fran asked.

"Nothing." He said as he closed his eyes. "Do you even know what we're supposed to do?"

Fran turned her head to the side and looked out a window while she pondered. Her soft hair fell over her shoulders gracefully. "I don't—consecration or something. Do you know?"

He nodded. "We have been taught since our birth what it is we are supposed to do. Several of the older Viera women know what we're supposed to do, your sister knows what we are to do, and don't you think it unfair that you not know?"

Fran smirked. "I don't. I'm going to find out now aren't I?"

The male laughed, Fran enjoyed his gruff chuckle. "You have no idea. My name is Wern."

Wern suddenly shifted and Fran stepped back as he rose to his feet, she once again saw his large body tower over her. "I don't like that name." Fran said as she gathered some sap from a bowl in her cupboard for him to drink.

Wern lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes, it sounds like Wyrm, the dragon that was just born in the Golmore a few years ago." She placed the sap in his hands, and he took a hearty swig.

"This is very good," said Wern as he wiped his mouth. "I'm sorry you do not approve of my name. And if you don't mind me saying, _Fran _is also one of the plainer names I've heard in my years."

Fran didn't find that rude, it was something about the way his lips moved as he said it that she enjoyed. She still couldn't figure the word for it. "Well I like my name." She responded playfully.

"And I, mine." He replied. "But there is one thing about that name Fran that I do like." He mused.

"What?"

"The bearer, you're very beautiful Fran."

The young Fran gasped as Wern pulled her closer, his large hands gripped her backside firmly as their mouths met. She didn't know what was going on, but merely assumed that this was what they were supposed to do. Maybe this was what "consecration" meant. Fran's thin lips intertwined with his full ones, and she felt a sudden rush of heat inflame her loins when she felt the warmth of his tongue slide into her mouth.

She moaned quietly when she finally pushed him away, and his ears had risen to stand horizontally to the sides. She still lacked the descriptive word to describe how they looked to her at that moment.

"What are we doing?" Fran asked in exasperation. "This closeness and breech of privacy feels…"

"Unnatural?"

"No—that's not the word for it. Different I suppose. What is this?"

Wern never released his grip on her, though it had risen to the small of her back. "What we are going to do tonight is something that you may only partake in once in your life. Humes, Bangaa, Moogle, Seeq, and other impure species often indulge in it. But you may not. I am not allowed to speak with my tongue what we are going to do tonight, so I ask that you trust me, and just—follow my lead."

Fran had doubts, but did trust Wern, and saw nothing else to do but trust. He once again commenced his heavy invasion of her mouth, and she whimpered slightly when she felt the appendage under his loin cloth engorge and touch her sacred retreat. With a smile he began to lead her towards the bed, and the rest of the night became a blur that Fran would consider a dream to every extent.

Fran awoke that morning feeling _different _down there then she normally did. It wasn't uncomfortable just different. But her attention on that detail had averted when she discovered that Wern was nowhere to be found. She yelped and quickly grabbed some garment to cover herself and then ran towards the door of her Hollow. She stopped when Jote stood there dressed in a heavy robe.

"Sister," said she with another smile. "I hope your evening was enjoyable."

"Jote! Where's Wern?"

"Who?"

"Wern—the male…"

"Oh whom you consecrated with? He's been purified, the ritual between you two was a success."

It took Fran a long time to speak back with her sister after that day. The young Viera had completely forgotten what was to become of the Vieran males once their use had been served. Once Fran was reminded, she sobbed for a long time, and soon, her eyelashes fell out from her eyes. Evidence of her miscarriage.

Fran would later find out, after she met Humes, that the word she couldn't think of to describe Wern's certain mannerisms was "cute."

* * *

**ATmac05: **How was it? I'm really proud of it right now. And I hoped you all liked it. If there were anything you considered as being spoilers I apologize, but right now I think there weren't a lot. Seeing as how a lot of their customs I made up. Hope you liked it!

Please Rate and Review! **_Seriously._**


	2. Listen to Sense, or Listen to Relj?

**ATmac05: ** Alright, second chapter. First of all I wanna says thanks to my three reviewers. That's enough drive to write a second chapter considering the first two I got in two days. So anyway, the second chapter's here. And I assume no spoilers.

_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Two**_

**_One Must Choose: Listen to Sense, or listen to…Relj?_**

"Why wouldst thou associate with an impure species? Dost thou know the sin of which Humes reside? Dost thou know of the slothfulness of the Seeq? The wrath of the Bangaa? Or hast thou been acquainted with the greed of the Moogle? To be with relation to another species is deplorable. Only those who seek the Wood are destined for salvation."

--Intricacy 12: 341

Fran sincerely and truthfully detested lingering. Lingering in any situation, or in this case, emotion. To linger on anything meant that one couldn't accept fate, or was unable to ready his or herself for the future. Fran didn't consider herself to fall into any of these categories, therefore she hated herself when after 5 years she still mourned over the loss of Wern.

The pain of losing him still simmered in her heart, and she couldn't understand why. They'd had only one night of unyielding passion, and she could barely remember his face. But still, she felt no closure. Wern had been uplifted from her and thrown into the bowels of oblivion without any kind of notice to her. Closure in that situation seemed unattainable.

She hated to linger.

It was a peaceful yet dreary morning that day when Fran felt Jote shaking her violently from side to side in order to stir her. Fran moaned in slight bewilderedness as her blurry eyes came into focus to see her elder sister standing above her taller than ever. Fran attempted to ignore her older sibling by closing her eyes back, but it was after this feat that Jote magically doused her with a blast of water.

"Jote!" Fran squealed as she jumped from her comfortable bed.

Jote had an amused and stern look about her face somehow. She said strongly, "Fran, I told you to wake up early this morning!"

"Why?" Fran asked groggily and swung her long legs over the bed.

Jote scoffed and folded her arms. She was growing impatient at her sister's lack of responsibility in these past few years. If she was to become Head Priestess soon, she would have to get Fran in line. "I told you to wake up early for your Cutting! I don't know why you insist on having long hair!"

Fran rolled her eyes and headed towards her mirror, this again. "Jote, I just happen to like my hair long. I don't see why it is such a big deal."

Jote gasped, taken aback by her sister's words. " '_Don't see why?_' Fran! You know that you know what the Intricacy of the Wood says!" Her words were sharp. "Long hair is something that Humes value! And so we must not partake in it!"

Fran had started combing her hair as Jote spoke, and at the completion of her sister's sentence had turned around. "Jote, we are the purest species in Ivalice, no?"

"That is what the Wood says."

"So why then, must we alter our ways because of another species? If we are indeed the most correct in our religion, why not do as we want?"

Jote resisted the urge to curse at his sister's foolishness. Where had she'd gotten this blasphemous attitude from? "Fran, you have a lot to learn about your responsibility to the Wood."

"I guess so," Fran retorted.

"Listen here! I will not have you speaking to me in that manner! As an apprentice priestess, _and _as your older sister you will respect me! And you _will_ respect the Wood. We've no time for this argument time and time again. Your appointment is in a few minutes, prepare yourself and leave. End of discussion. I have other matters to attend to."

Déjà vu struck Fran as Jote quickly took her leave. This whole sequence of events happened at least a few times a week, Jote would bark orders at Fran—in lieu of the Wood, and Fran would challenge Jote about them—in lieu of her own feelings. Their quarrel would last for a few moments, and then Jote would cease the discussion by pulling rank. Fran was growing tired.

The viera decided to stop combing her hair, for most of it would soon be gone anyway. Fran had done her best to keep the condition of her hair from being noticed, but the fact that it had now begun to trail down to the back of her knees prevented this facade. She strolled over to her closet and pulled out a short silver dress that halted at the tip of her buttocks, and then found a green sash to tie around her waist to hide the rest. The top of her breasts had been pushed up and together by the dress, and she reveled in their larger size. No longer did she feel inadequate compared to the rest of the vieras as she did five years ago. When she was satisfied with her upper attire, she reached in the bottom of her closet to retrieve a pair of gray stiletto-heed sandals. The shoes were beautiful, and little did her sister know, they were what had sparked her questioning of the Wood.

Vieras have pointed feet, similar to panthers and the other feline animals that roam Ivalice. The sharp incline from their toes to their heels proves useful for quick movements for attack, but became a problem over long journeys. Vieras needed something for their heels to rest upon so they wouldn't grow weary so quickly. Thus, a few of the Vieras came to the Eruyt Village council proposing a trade with the Humes. The citizens of the nearby Rabanastre had invented shoes that had elevated heels in order to give Hume women more height, and they also seemed to be the perfect fit for Vieran feet. The council deliberated, and finally agreed to start paying for shipments of these shoes from Humes. They then studied their design and remade them in order to make them more durable.

Fran thought this whole concept contradictory. She wanted long hair, but couldn't because this was a beauty symbol of the Humes. Yet, the council allowed for them to wear footwear—created by Humes. So how then, was this any different? When Fran had first gotten a pair of the shoes from a Vieran merchant she pondered this question, and still had gotten no answer from anyone. Even Jote had cleverly avoided the question when it was proposed to her. From then on Fran became even more skeptical of the practices of the Wood, and from there her arguments with Jote had grown.

With the shoes on, and her clothes properly secured (the term used lightly), Fran left her Hollow and into Eruyt Village.

"Fran! Fran!" A light voice called to her as she left her home. Fran looked up and saw a viera with hair almost as long as hers running towards her. The viera had a round face with smooth cheeks, and she smiled greatly upon seeing Fran.

"Hi, Relj." Fran said when she recognized her younger friend. "How are you?"

"Fine," Relj said happily. She was a pretty Viera, so much so in fact, that she was kept away from the male viera cells in fear of them attacking her in some way. Relj was extremely tall, a few inches over Fran in fact. Yet her presence was not intimidating or overbearing in anyway, she had misty red gray eyes, and was very blessed as far as her feminine assets went. To top it all off, she was smart as whip, and for some reason saw fit to look up to Fran. On the other hand, Fran found herself looking more up to Relj, figuratively and literally.

"Why are you so excited?" Fran asked.

"Well," Relj muttered her long smooth hair swinging behind her. "I heard a rumor, and I wanted to know if you would help me check it out!"

Fran raised an eyebrow. "A rumor? About what?"

Relj smiled. "I'm not telling you till you promise to help me!"

"It wouldn't be wise to agree to help you without knowing what the rumor is. Besides, I have an appointment."

"Aw come on! You know my mother won't mind if you miss her appointment!" That was another plus on Relj's part, her mother was Verna, the hair cutter of the village. "Please help me! I promise it'll be worth your while!"

Fran started to speak, but sighed in defeat when Relj began doing a pout that would make even a stone deity feel bad. Relj was so young and curious, and Fran didn't want to be the one to ruin that aspect of her.

"Fine," Fran agreed. "But I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what this rumor is."

"Yay!" Relj said. "Okay, listen, my mother and a few of her clients were inside the shop talking, right?"

Fran nodded in coherence.

"And one of the client's friend's aunt's sister's mother is an attendant at the council meetings."

The middle was so ridiculous that Fran saw no need to even dwell on it.

"And anyway! Apparently, a caravan of Humes are heading towards the Golmore Jungle!"

Fran's eyes widened at that. The Golmore Jungle just outside of the village kept most other creatures from discovering the village, or even going near it. So to hear of other species in the area was somewhat exciting, especially Humes. They tend to not survive long trips, and Golmore is definitely far from any Hume Civilization. In fact, Fran had never seen a Hume up close and personal. Neither had most vieras, this was why Relj was so excited.

"Tis very intriguing." Fran said with a downward inflection. "But only a rumor. I assume you want to go gallivanting in the jungle in search of these Humes correct?"

Relj had a brightness in her eyes as she nodded. "Yes, and if the rumor is true the Humes can only be on their way through to Mr. Bur-Omisace, and then they'll definitely pass our way! We'll get to see what they really look like and act like, and maybe they'll be riding Chocobos! You know we don't get to see them often!"

Fran smiled. "You're really anxious about this, huh?"

Relj nodded feverishly.

"Okay then, I'll help you. But we mustn't go too far. The further we are from the village, the more dangerous it gets."

"You can use magic, right?"

"Only Fire, and Aero."

"Then we'll be fine! It's a jungle, fire hurts everything. Let's go!"

Relj had insisted on just leaving at that moment. But Fran had been the wiser and forced Relj to head back to her house to gather up some traveling gear. Their goal wasn't to head too far out of the village, but once they left they would become susceptible to ailments monsters flew about. At her home Relj had some spare Eye Drops, Echo Herbs, and Gold Needles, as well as a few Potions. The two put them in a sack and then gathered some raggedy leg armor Relj had in her basement. It was weak, but should manage for their short trek.

Luckily there had been no Viera guarding the exit to the village, Relj hypothesized that they must be in the forest somewhere investigating the rumor themselves. When they exited, their eyes and noses became agitated at the sudden blast of pollen and spores in the jungle. It was also surprisingly dark in contrast to the village, where the light of the Wood kept it illuminated all day long.

Once they were completely gone from the village, the pathway leading into it disappeared, as customary to keep the location of the Vieras safe. The two then headed up a small set of stairs where moss and vines had grown over, and onto the main pathway through the jungle. There was a huge stone golem known as a Treant that paced back and forth on the path, but it was gentle as long as it wasn't attacked. It was the perfect guardian of the village, because Humes stupidly assumed that all beasts were dangerous and were usually killed by the Treant when they attacked. Fran and Relj skirted past the beast, and began to walk towards the entrance of the jungle.

"It's so creepy out here." Relj commented as they walked past a particularly twisted tree with various convoluted branches. "And I can hear all the weird sounds all the animals make."

"Twas your idea to come out here," said Fran as she stepped over a fallen branch.

"Would you stop doing that?" Relj pleaded.

Fran stopped and turned to look at Relj. "Stop what?"

"Combining 'it was' and 'it is', you don't have to speak so properly all the time."

"_You_ don't have to speak so casually all the time. You know that to say the words separately is a custom that Humes are adapting to, you shouldn't be doing it."

Relj grunted. "You sound like mother, and Jote. You all keep talking about how bad Humes are, but most of you have never even seen them. How do we know they aren't nice people? We never venture out of this god-forsaken jungle."

Fran's face tightened and she stared daggers into Relj's expression. The younger viera quickly noticed her mistake and stepped back in apology.

"_Where'd you hear that phrase?_" Fran inquired severely.

"N—no where." Relj lied.

"_Don't lie to me, Relj. Do you know what kind of punishments you would endure if you ever said that around the wrong person?_ _Where did you hear it!_" Fran repeated.

Relj quivered. The phrase was a known Hume connotation that was considered extremely blasphemous. The viera's had a strong belief that nothing was absent of the god's will, therefore it was viewed as extremely grotesque to use that term. Fran knew this well, and she also knew that Relj couldn't have possibly heard it from a viera because it's usage was outlawed. She could only have heard it from a Hume. Fran's anger had not come for her using the phrase, rather it had come from the fear of what might happen to Relj if it was to "slip" again.

"I'm sorry, Fran. I should've told you. You're my best friend after all. I heard it from a Hume."

Fran relaxed a little. "I thought as much. When?"

"Awhile ago, you see, I was out in the jungle looking for some more Echo herbs when I heard something wailing in pain. I wondered what it was and followed the noise to the entrance of the jungle."

"You went that far away from the village? Don't you know how dangerous that is?"

Relj nodded. "I know, but the screams were so terrible, I couldn't just ignore them. So I followed them, and upon my arrival I noticed two burly Humes beating on a smaller one."

Fran blinked, Relj had seen Humes.

"The two Hume males had beaten the smaller male viciously with chains and hammers. And I was too afraid to confront them, so I let them beat the man and waited till they left. When I went to the Hume, he was almost dead."

"And so you nursed him?"

Relj nodded again, almost childlike in manner. "Yes."

"What happened to him?"

"I just nursed him back to health near the entrance of the village. He was actually very nice, I talked to him everyday, and he complimented my hair and how I looked all the time. I told him how nice he was too, and eventually…"

Fran leaned in. "And eventually what?"

"I had my second ritual with him."

Fran just looked sullenly upon her taller friend. She knew that indulging in the ritual again was of course a sin. But Fran remembered the connection she had felt with Wern, and suddenly understood Relj's need to repeat the ritual. She had no quips with Relj's decision, and instead grasped her friend into a tight embrace.

"That was brave of you."

Relj lowered her head onto Fran's, and cried silently into the shorter Viera's hair. "It wasn't brave. It was foolish; I could've been killed if we were caught."

"No, you mustn't think like that. You loved him I suppose. So much so that we're out here because you hoped he would be in the traveling caravan, huh?"

Relj stepped back, eyes wide at realizing Fran had figured out her plan. She loosened her expression into a sigh, and looked away. "Yes, that's why. He told me that he had to leave to find his family, and that he would back when he could. I've not heard from him since, and hoped that finally—after so long—he would be returning to me."

Fran didn't have the heart to tell Relj that if the Hume had a family, then he most likely had a Hume mate already. Relj had been involved in a case of infidelity due to sudden lust, and that there was a slim chance that the man would be back. But something deep inside Fran told her that maybe Relj had silently realized that, and was taking her strides in desperation.

Relj said nothing after that, and the two continued through the jungle for particularly no reason. They didn't know exactly how close the caravan was, and so their trek was somewhat either meaningless—or unreasonable. For this reason Fran stopped Relj and suggested that they find a place to hide themselves and wait. Relj had been eager to continue, but realized that they were getting a bit far from the village and that this was the best choice of action.

So they found a tuft of bushes near a thick tree, and they waited. Fran opted to sit upright on her knees to keep her ears primed for approaches, while Relj decided to just lie back and relax for a moment. In those positions they stayed for several hours, both of them a bit too emotional from the previous conversation to even speak to one another. A few times Fran and Relj had to stay completely still as a few of patrolling Vieras, or even monsters, came pouncing about. This pattern repeated for a long period of time until finally Fran's ears picked up the sound of someone appraohcing.

They twitched. "Something's coming." She said.

"Another Viera or fiend?" Relj asked uninterestedly.

"No, these footsteps are softer. I think it's of another species."

Relj jumped up. "A Hume!"

"Quiet!"

Fran grabbed Relj's arm and pulled her back down sharply before crouching dead still in waiting. Soon Relj herself could also hear the footsteps coming, and she was positive that it was a Hume. But the smell was different from the man she had come to love, and her heart sank as she saw the clothed figure of a short Hume with a bundle of blankets in her arm.

"Tis not him." Fran said, stating the obvious.

"Yes, I know. But why is the Hume alone? It was a caravan coming, right?"

The robed Hume continued forward towards them in hasty steps. It seemed almost dazed as it wobbled from side to side as it proceeded. The two vieras watched earnestly as light whimpers could be heard from the bundle in the Humes arms, and when the holder shushed it, it became apparent that the Hume was a female, and was holding a baby of some sort. Fran instinctively tensed up even though she felt to real danger, and Relj seemed genuinely concerned for the lone-Hume.

"She's hurt, I think." Relj whispered. "We should help her."

"A Hume? We don't know their kind. She might attack us in fear."

"Silly, that won't happen. Humes do know what _we _look like, whether or not we've ever seen them."

"I don't know if it's a good idea…"

"Then stay here if you want." On that note Relj bounded out from the bushes and raced toward the Hume. The small woman had began to fall over when Relj caught her in the crook of her arms, unfortunately the baby had tumbled from her grasp in the midst of these occurrences, yet Fran somersaulted and caught the child in the nick of time.

Relj looked down amusingly. "Thanks."

"Whatever." Fran said as she stood. The Hume woman muttered a silent "thank you" in their foreign language before collapsing in Relj's arms.

The taller viera looked at Fran worriedly before checking down to see if the baby was alright, when she did, her eyes bucked out in amazement.

Fran cocked her head back curiously before looking down at the baby.

It was a viera.


	3. Trial by the Elders

**ATmac05:** Third chapter's here. FINALLY! I really want to say sorry for the long time it took to update. Especially after all the nice reviews I got! So thanks, and I promise to not have the next chapter take as long. No spoilers, really. And I did no grammar check or spell check past the Microsoft Word function so if there are missing words or something I apologize. Okay, enough talking, let's go on…

* * *

**A _Pleasant Lie: Chapter Three_**

_**Relj's Heart: Trial by the Elders**_

"Let thy people listen to thine Elder of the Wood. For she hast the strongest and most knowledge of the Wood, and does best to exercise they will. The Wood speaks through the Elder, and thus the will of the Elder is undoubtedly the Will of the Wood."

--Intricacy 2: 401

* * *

Fran supported the infant Viera within her arms, while Relj coasted behind her with the deadened Hume in hers. The two females said nothing to one another, for their purposes had converged, and finally they were in agreement. The pain and suffering of any type of being was intolerable, and they both refused to ignore any sort of strife that they could have possibly prevented. So, while carefully avoiding Malboros, Gargoyles, Panthers, and any other type of creature that could threaten them, they returned into the thick of the forest, and called upon the hidden path that led into Eruyt Village.

Unlike the time of their exit, the village entry was now somewhat crowded with Vieras. Most of them soldiers draped in heavy armor, prepping themselves to leave into the jungle. All at once upon seeing the two young girls, they breathed sighs of relief. A very tall muscular Viera that Fran had seen hanging around Jote stepped to her.

In a deep yet smooth voice she spoke. "Mistress Fran, your sister was very worried of your whereabouts. She requested that a team be dispatched to find you." She paused and looked at Relj, who was almost as tall as she. "You two, Mistress Relj."

Fran was afraid to speak, for the soldier—named Amyre, had yet to inquire about the baby in her arms, or the woman in Relj's. But still, Fran could see the other soldiers peering carefully and were obviously interested in their quarry.

Amyre took no time in satisfying their interests. "Mistress Fran, may I ask of you what is in your arms?"

Fran nodded. "Yes, but I shall not let you see it, nor what Relj has. I wish to see my sister first."

The solider squinted her eyes in suspicious superciliousness, how dare Fran make such an order with such a lack of respect upon her. Still, Amyre knew that Fran was valuable to the village, and she abided without verbal resistance. With a snap of her fingers, Amyre led her soldiers into the centre of the village to retrieve Jote.

Relj finally spoke, and her voice was quivering. "F-Fran, I'm scared. Wh—what w-will happen to us?" She was on the brink of tears. "We've brought Humes into v-village! We could die!"

Fran was equally scared, but the more emotionally rational. "Calm yourself, we've brought an unconscious Hume, and a baby Viera. Neither of these—_parcels_—are any threats to the village."

"Don't call them that, Fran. We may have a Hume, and a Viera not of the Wood, but please don't belittle them to objects. They still are living creatures."

Fran had to hold back a tear. Despite the pain and suffering Relj had sustained when dealing with outsiders. She still chose to stay on their side. This may in the end be her demise, but Fran admired the strength through which Relj found her resolve. She was disobeying the Wood in every respect, but her ideals gave way to something just as powerful.

Love. And not only for herself, but for every living thing that ever wanted to be happy in this world.

Could they really be punished for that?

* * *

Amyre returned shortly afterwards with her band of wiry soldiers encircling none other but the tall and forbearing Jote. Her presence seemed even more dominant and commanding than ever before. In part because she was now wearing the gold and white robes of the Priestesses, and because she had the angriest face about her that Fran had ever seen.

"_Fran._" She growled, showing the ferociousness that Vieras sustained until battle. "_Do not think I am unaware of your actions. The Wood and the Elders all know of your escapades!_"

Fran gulped, and she heard Relj whimper behind her. Jote came forth and stood unnaturally close to Fran. The younger Viera could feel the anger seething off Jote's body as the apprentice priestess yanked the baby with one arm and thrust her so powerfully into the hands of another soldier that it was almost a toss. Jote then raised her hand, and slapped Fran so powerfully across the face that she tumbled and skidded across the ground. Jote then threw a quick glance at Relj, who was now crying severely.

"Jote…" Fran breathed. "Why all this harshness…?"

"_Why? Because you know better than this Fran! The Wood strictly states that we are not to allow other races in our village, or even associate ourselves with them. And now you—the sister of a soon-to-be priestess no less—brings a foul Hume into our midst! Don't you remember, Fran? Or have you forgotten the stench of the horrid Hume who came into our village and murdered our mother before stealing our valuables!_"

Fran coughed some dirt from her mouth before pushing herself back up. Standing strong, she responded. "Jote! Do not overreact so! I know just as well as you do the underhandedness of Humes! But we found one hurt and limping! And not only that! She was holding a baby Viera! One of our own kind!"

Jote's teeth were bared. "_Tis not one of our kind! It has been outside the sanctity of the Wood and into the world of the Humes and is therefore of them! We cannot allow such things into our home!_"

"You speak hypocrisy!" Fran bellowed. Jote yelped in aghast upon hearing this. "You say we are not to associate ourselves with Humes! Yet, you refuse to justify the wearing of those shoes that the Humes created! The Wood, the Intricacy, and the Elders all tell us to love one another and that life is precious, why then does that only apply to Vieras? You say that the baby has been fouled by the world of the Humes. But we all walk the same land! We live in the _same _world!"

Jote lurched forth and smacked Fran once again across the face. But the angered Viera refused to lose her ground this time, after the strike she bounded back up and tackled her elder sister. They both fell to the ground with in recoil, and then began violently clawing at each other. The soldiers at once reached for the two fighters. Relj in the meantime had began sobbing so greatly that her tears were now dampening the clothes of the Hume she held in her arms. The sound of the screams and grunts of all those involved in the confrontation could be heard piercing through the silence of Eruyt Village, and Relj sensed deep in her heart a massive change that was shaking the very foundations of the Wood.

When the soldiers had finally separated the fighting siblings away from each other, it was visible that both girls had been crying during the small tussle. Pieces of Fran's hair had been ripped out, and Jote's robes had been torn just as well.

"I see you are like this now, sister!" Fran screamed whilst held back by soldiers. "So infatuated with becoming a priestess that you've lost the rationality of heart!"

"The feeling is mutual, Fran!" Jote retorted, also restrained. "I grew worried when you refused to cut your hair! A piece of you admires the Humes, huh? Well you can turn your back on your home if you wish, but know that you'll face only sadness!"

The two said nothing to each other verbally, though disdainful glances at one another kept the argument going on for an even longer period of time.

* * *

Fran, along with Relj, had retreated to her Hollow. Her sobbing friend had refused to go home until her mother had finished all her appointments, undoubtedly she had heard of the mishap, and Relj was scared of the recrimination. Fran did her best to console her Relj, but the tall sinewy viera seemed never to falter in her ongoing tears.

They sat on the bed, with Fran holding Relj tightly in her arms.

"This is my fault," said Relj. Her tears wet Fran's shoulders. "The Wood is punishing me for repeating my ritual without proper procedure. Not only that, but I mated with an outsider. That's even worse, Fran!"

Fran sighed. "Relj, you mustn't blame yourself for acting on instinct."

"Even if I stopped blaming myself, the Wood still would find fault in my actions. Fran, don't you see? Even if we do what we feel is right, we in fact _aren't_ right unless our actions are ordained by the Wood. We thought we were doing a good deed by helping the Hume woman and the Vieran infant, but we brought outsiders into the village, and therefore we are sinners."

The long-haired viera just looked upon her friend, knowing her in heart that she was right. The village outlined what the will of the Wood was and wasn't, Relj and her had acted against those rules. Feeling that they had done right did not truly prove they were right. But then again, Fran pondered, what proof does the Wood have that their actions were wrong? Of course, it branded names on their actions 'bringing outsiders into the Wood, disobeying the Wood', but was that really proof what they had done was wrong? And most importantly, why was it wrong?

These thoughts swelled in Fran's head, and she began to grow very tired while holding her friend. She gripped Relj's shoulders more tightly and began to push her back gently to tell her of her weariness. As she pushed her younger friend back she noticed something.

Relj had begun to grow eyelashes.

They weren't yet very long or voluminous, but they were there.

Suddenly the panic that had consumed Relj entered Fran, and her mind started to become chaotic with panic, still though, seeing as Relj was already just as saddened she decided to maintain her composure. She would tell Relj as tactfully as possibly.

"Relj…"

The sobbing viera looked up, her wide eyes shiny with tears.

"You—have eyelashes."

Relj made no immediate reaction, almost as if she didn't hear what was said at first. An eyebrow rose in confusion, and the tall girl slowly raised her hand up to her eyelids. With a heavy breath she gently grazed her fingertip along the edges of her left eye, and Fran could see the small eyelashes shifting with the added force. Relj lowered her hand, and she didn't cry. She just lay back on Fran's bed, and stared at the ceiling.

"This can't be happening…" She said with an unnerving quietness that was unbecoming of her.

"Relj, have you had the ritual with any other…?"

"No—just the Hume, it'll be a half-breed Fran, they'll kill it….They will kill my baby, and then they might punish me as well for lying down with a Hume."

Fran stood and walked over to her armoire, she briskly opened it and reached into the bottom drawers and pulled out a small razor shaped like a crescent moon. It shone in the soft light of the room. "We'll be fine; we just have to cut those eyelashes off until we figure out what they're going to do with us, the baby viera, and the Hume woman. Once we know that, we can devise a plan to eventually get us all safe."

* * *

Shortly after all of Relj's eyelashes had been severed, something knocked upon Fran's door. The viera asked who was there, and a gruff voice replied.

"An official from the elder council."

Upon opening the door Fran was once again greeted with a tall and sturdy Viera clad in thin armor. The official strangely even wore a full-faced helmet. Fran greeted her with a handshake and the official reached into her armor and removed a small cylinder of parchment sealed by a green ribbon.

"Mistress Fran, you and your companion Relj have been summoned to an inquisition at the request of the Elders. You are to report to the Central Quad in a half-hour." The official's voice was weighted with a tone of regret. "You are charged with a first-degree act of leaving the village without proper clearance. A second-degree act of Village Endangerment by bringing outsiders into the village, and a first-degree act of striking a holy authority."

Fran scoffed. "That _holy authority _was also my sister. Am I really to be reprimanded for fighting my sibling? Something that is common to the village?"

"I apologize ma'am, but these are the charges of the Elders. They are not to be questioned. Be ready by the appointed time, I will be downstairs to escort you."

* * *

The walk to the Central Quad was an embarrassing one. It seemed that everyone in the village had heard of Relj's and Fran's misdemeanors, and saw no shame in gossiping about it right in front of the two as they traveled. What made the trek even more disgruntling was the fact that because they were to be put on trial, they had to wear heavy black robes that covered up every part of their body. Even their ears were painfully folded down under a heavy hood that had to wear. Only the sullen faces of the two accused young Vieras could be seen by onlookers.

The official led them past the salon where Fran was to have her hair cut, and then through a pair of Hollows that stood awkwardly away from the others. After that they headed up a long staircase that took them to another section of the Central Quad, Fran had never seen this area for it was in the midst of heavy shrubbery and trees. Still, they climbed even more, till they seemed so high up that they were almost near the very canopies of the village. It was at the peak of their ascent that they saw a large Hollow that was made out of pure marble. In fact, it could barely be called a Hollow in any way because it lacked the bark of tree that all Hollows were made of. It stood tall and square, overbearing in presence, and centered in its door was the oath taken by all Vieras.

_Thy Wood is my strength, thy Wood is my glory, they Wood is my law,_

_And thusly thy Wood is my will._

_Forever and through eternity. _

The official walked them up to the door and tapped on it three times with the knuckle of her middle finger. The tall door then slowly slid open after the echo of the taps ceased in the eerie silence of the canopy. Only darkness could be seen from within, and the official then motioned for Relj and Fran to enter. They reluctantly followed.

Inside, the darkness did not yield. The two slowly proceeded forward, and flinched slightly when the door slammed heavily behind them. Fran could not see Relj next to her, but she could still hear her crying once again. Hard to believe that this was the strong viera that had gotten them into this mess. Fran thought. Feeling as if it was her duty, she straightened her back and led them forward into the darkness, holding Relj's hand the entire time.

Finally, when she felt the material of the floor beneath her feet change, she stopped.

The voice spoken was so soft and whispery that she knew it could've only been spoken into her mind.

_Fran, you are to now remove your robes and bow down before the Elders._

Fran, despite fearing she being naked suddenly, followed suit. Relj must've heard the same command as well, because Fran could hear her removing her clothing.

The two unbeknownst to each other bowed in unison right afterwards.

_You two are now deemed as sinners by the Will of the Wood. Because you have been put on trial by the Elders of the Wood. Your nakedness shall remind you of your humility, and because you are in the most sacred and holy spot in the entire village. Committing any sin here will result in death._

Another voice, one that sounded even more elderly began to speak.

_If you two are wondering why we speak into your minds, we do this so that we know whether or not you are lying and so that we can find all of your sins. I sense that one of you has a question, so speak it aloud now._

It was Relj, who was absolutely quivering at that moment. "I wanted to know if you would delve into our minds to find out things that we are not on trial for!"

_Why, child, are you interested? Do you in fact have something to hide?_

Relj started to respond negative, but then realized that she couldn't commit a sin.

"Yes, elder! I do have something that I wish to keep secret!"

_We respect the mind of the Viera, as law of the Wood. We will not invade your secrets unless you try to keep them from us when they are inquired of you. If what you wish to hide has nothing to do with this trial, then you are safe._

Fran thought this extremely rude and unjust, and hoped that the Elders could not hear her thoughts as that notion passed through her mind. It seemed that because she knew that they could find out every secret she ever held, the more she thought of said secrets. And she knew at that point that even though they promised not to pry, just the mere thought of one's mind would be conveyed to them. They would never need to pry.

_You are correct, Fran._ Said the previous voice.

In that case, thought Fran, technically they lied. Fran stiffened at this thought, but none of the Elders seemed to respond to it.

_Let us say, _the first voice spoke, _that we are deeply saddened that the daughter of the village hair-cutter, and the younger sibling of our top apprentice priestesses are the individuals on trial today. How do you plead?_

"Guilty," said the two girls. In their hearts they believed their acts proper and just, but knew that they were still in fact crimes against the village.

_You acknowledge your ill-deeds?_

Fran felt the urge to be bold. "Yes, for we fail to see the wrong in our actions. Rather—feel—the wrong of our actions. We can see perfectly why we are on trial. We just—"

_Understood. Please, reiterate the events leading up to your trial. We will hear your sides of the story as proper by the law of the Wood. Your verdict will be decided shortly thereafter._

The two vieras both started to speak at the same time. But Relj, feeling guiltier in her actions than Fran, allowed the latter to speak. So Fran began, she told as exquisitely as she could of Relj's proposal and their duel efforts in trying to discover the nearby Humes. She then told them of how they discovered the Viera baby accompanying the Hume. Fran did her best to make it apparent that they meant no harm, and had to original intentions of bringing others into the village. The only thing she failed to reveal was what Relj had told her in regards to her repeated ritual. Although, she still had the horrible feeling that the elders already new.

The elders thanked Fran and Relj before going silent for a short while. While they waited, Fran's stomach seemed to rattle with nervousness at the fear of what their punishment might be. Next to her, Relj quivered in the chill of being naked in the wide, open room. She was just as scared.

Finally the voices resurfaced.

_Fran, it seems that the elders see fit that you received a small punishment. For your actions only fall under the realm of assisting and accompanying. You will be forced to undergoing training at the Eruyt Arms facility. After your training you may serve at least 2 years in service to the village and the Wood. The viera baby you discovered will also be put under your care for a decade. _

Fran was slightly relieved yet fearful that she had been sentenced first. The second punishment also surprised her slightly.

_Relj, we're afraid that your punishment is much more severe. It was you who conspired to go into the jungle, and it was you who revealed yourself to the Hume first. That is already a very reproachful and disastrous crime. But upon further study of your mind…_

The two vieras gasped.

…_It seems that you have repeated your ritual without ceremonial standards, and not only that, but you repeated it with a Hume. So therefore, we have decided that you shall be executed—along with the Hume woman you discovered._

Fran stood up from her bow in aghast as she heard heavy shuffling come from out of nowhere. Relj screamed, but it soon became muffled as Fran heard heavy footsteps encircle in the wailing viera and drag her away.

* * *

**ATmac05: **So yeah, again sorry for the long wait. Hope it was worth it for you all. In the next chapter you'll find out about the baby Viera, and the Hume a little bit more. I'll try it have it up by the end of the week. 


	4. There's No Fate Worse Than Death Part 1

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* * *

ATmac05: Sorry about the false promises, I could've sworn that I would finish this chapter sooner. So I guess I won't make anymore promises. Thanks to all the wonderful reviewers, your words are so kind. Sniff Anyway, I know you all are getting anxious for Balthier and there will be around 2-3 more chapter before he makes an appearance. Probably 2, I think. But definitely no more than three, so I'll try to get those chapters up fast so everyone can see their favorite sky pirate.**

**Spoilers: None.**

_**

* * *

**_

A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Four

**_Escape Part One: There's No Fate Worse Than Death_**

"May thy people of the Wood fear Death. For it is the ultimate retribution for ill-deeds. Yet let thy people respect Death, for it is the ultimate release of pain."

--Intricacy 84: 204

* * *

That night in the village was the darkest it had ever been. The unyielding darkness wove itself throughout the sky, the moon nor did the stars seem to halt its terrible hold on the village. Yet, the vieras didn't seem to notice. Many of them went about finishing the last of their errands before retiring to their Hollows, in which they all slept a wonderful soundless sleep.

Fran on the other hand, did notice. In fact, a part of her believed that maybe the night only seemed so dark because of her melancholy demeanor.

She had lain in her soft bed in a green sequin gown that securely fit the contours of her body. Sadness overwhelmed her, majority stemming form the sentence of her good friend. But the rest still lingered on from her fight with Jote. The two had had their disagreements, but it had never come to blows. Fran's eyes welled up with tears at this thought. She realized that her relationship with her sister might never be the same again.

The window had been left open in Fran's haste to sleep away the day's pain, and a cold wind blew in from the arid night.

* * *

After they had overwhelmed her in the Elders' Temple, Relj had been thrown to the ground by harsh hands and gagged with a vine that was tied around her mouth, to the back of her throat, and then she felt it trace along her back to bind her hands that had been twisted to her back. Her eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness and she let out muffled wails as her abusers still saw fit to blindfold her. Instinctively she jerked and gyrated her body to gain some sort of freedom, but the aggressors' hands (which were strangely large) held her tight in their grasp. Finally, with tears pouring from her blinded sight, she relaxed her muscles and became limp in their hold as they carried her away to the unknown.

It was the peak of midnight and still Fran was unable to find rest. Her Hollow had become cold at her laziness to close her window, and the bed was uncomfortably hot now with the spastic movement. Agitated, the viera rose from her bed and crossed over to her mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, same as ever. The proud features, the blasphemous long hair, and the fierce eyes still remained the same. The only thing different to Fran herself, was the pain she now felt at seeing the reflection. She felt guilty, and honestly had no reason to. But the realization that she would be allowed to live whilst her friend was killed consumed her.

Fran airily dropped her forehead into her hands, scratched gently and she dragged her hands down the side of her face, and then slammed them into the dresser as fists in frustration. The carnal side was unleashing inside her, and it struck the doorway into her heart that told her she had to do something. She couldn't let her friend get executed, and dare she say it—she didn't give a damn about what the Elders or the _Wood_ had to say about it.

The viera reached into her dresser and pulled out the ornate comb she so religiously used. She quickly grazed it throughout her hair in heavy strokes, before gripping the base of her long hair and sweeping it upwards into a bun. In the back of the same drawer was a thick band made of elastic rubber gathered from a gargoyle's hide, she looped it through her bun, and then repeated once again to secure the bun. When it was finished, she stood up and walked over to her armoire.

She felt somewhat silly as she looked through her closet for a black outfit, the whole prospect of her going rogue was somewhat humorous, but nevertheless she searched the wide encasement until she stumbled upon a set of black armor.

It was old, and was given to Jote and Fran after it was found on their dead mother. It consisted of a top that left the arms and belly free in order to maintain balance and circulation, while the unconnected bottom covered the front and scarcely shielded the back by leaving most of the buttocks exposed. Vieran armor was _armor_ in the loosest sense of the word, and it tended to be quite revealing. Jote had often promised to get it altered to be more feasible. But she hadn't yet, but it was black and would suffice for now. Fran then decided to wear some dark grey gauntlets she had found at an earlier ceremony, and she chose to leave her feet free in order to keep speed.

Fran eyed herself in the mirror proudly before heading towards the door of her Hollow. She was quite sure where she would find Relj, but she had a feeling that it was probably close to the Elder's temple. As prepared as she felt possible, Fran opened the door.

Jote stared her down suspiciously from the other side.

* * *

The awkwardly large hands led Relj along a dirt path, she couldn't see anything, but the clear sound of the wind let her know that she was in an open area. The faint whistling of the Wood's presence also had decreased. She deduced from these clues that they were possibly outside of the jungle, mainly because nothing but flat plains did surround the hidden jungle. Could they be near the Herme Mines, she wondered.

The open air also seemed to heighten her senses to a more potent level. She smelled a heavy musk from the guides who took hold of her, and she could hear that their footsteps were heavier than normal. The presence she felt from them still felt natural—they _were_ vieras, but they just seemed—bigger.

Concentrating so heavily on ascertaining the identity of the creatures around her, Relj hadn't noticed that she had slowed her pace. The creatures around her shoved her forth to get her to speed up, and she reluctantly complied. With the quicker pace came a harsher wind chill, and it unfortunately reminded Relj that she was still naked. Silently she wished that they were alone in the plains, but that hope diminished when she realized that all the creatures around her could see her plainly. There was no point in wishing for privacy.

The land below them started to incline, and Relj braced her legs as she was now led up a bumpy hill. Dry, dead grass scratched against her faced as they walked, and she stumbled as the hill suddenly shifted to a downward pathway. Finally, she felt her feet hit dirt as she was guided towards the sound of clinging metal.

"Let us in," said a deep voice. This made her even more troubled at the thought of what type of creatures these were.

Afterwards she heard the sound of metal grating together in strange cogs and whistles before the metal sound seemed to echo and finally diverge into silence. She was pushed forward right afterwards.

* * *

Jote stood firmly, dressed in a light green nightgown with her hair tied back in nearly the same fashion as Fran. Her younger sister sheepishly tried to hide her guiltiness in the presence of being caught red-handed, but it was pretty much impossible due to her attire.

Jote lifted that famous eyebrow. "Fran? What are you doing?"

Fran spun around and walked back towards her bed. She clutched her elbows. "Jote, I know we aren't on good terms right now. So I don't expect you to back me in my decision. But please, just let me do it without trying to interfere."

"Fran?" Jote walked towards her sister. "What _exactly _do you plan to do? Why are you wearing mother's armor?"

Fran turned around, but still averted her eyes from Jote's. "Sister, did you hear the verdict?" She asked slowly.

"Yes, I couldn't sleep, in fact. That's why I came to talk to you about it. It seems almost—unfathomable—that you have to take care of a baby and join the village arms unit, and…"

"Sit idly by while my friend is killed for only doing what she thought was best."

Jote lowered her eyes in shame before finally moving to hug her sister. Fran tensed at first, but finally relaxed into the apprentice priestess's arms. The overall warmth urged her to cry, but she held back tears.

"Fran—I'm sorry about what happened. I knew the punishments would be dire, but not to this degree. I suppose with the conflicts emerging between the Humes that the elders didn't want to risk any chances of involvement."

"So they kill someone who would normally be excused otherwise?"

"Don't say that Fran, not excused, just…"

Fran backed away, this time staring her sister squarely in her face. "Not killed." She finished. "Well then, I hope you'll find my actions justified."

"Actions?"

"Yes, I don't intend to let my friend be killed."

"What?" Jote's mouth gaped open. "Fran! You can't honestly…!"

"Jote! Listen to me." Fran spoke quietly but with fierceness. She straightened her body with vigor and stared deeply into Jote's eyes. "I doubt the Wood. Not its existence, but its manner of doing things. And I know that this is hard for you because you've devoted your life to it. But at the same time, it's hard for me because I have to face you everyday knowing what you believe in contrast to what I believe. Yet I face criticism everyday from you, and never do I judge you or your beliefs. So I ask Jote, as your sister, let me go about this without your interference. Judge me as you will, but please just let me do this."

Jote refused to be silent, though she spoke softly. "Fran, why do you need to do this? Do you realize how much happier you can be if you just accept the Wood?"

"No Jote, I don't. Because for years I have accepted the Wood and suddenly I'm finding out that I'm still not happy. So if that hasn't worked, let me try something different. And maybe in time, my faith in the Wood will revive. But right now I have to do what makes me feel right. Doesn't the Wood just want us to be happy in the long run anyway?"

Jote sighed. "Mother was just as stubborn." She slapped her hand to her forehead in weariness. "I can't condone this Fran…but I won't prevent it." She began to walk towards the door of the Hollow. "If you get caught doing whatever you're doing, don't come to me for help. Because I won't help you, not in the least."

Fran continued her stern stare at her sister.

Jote finished. "Keep that in mind, and I won't even tell you to look west of the Herme Mines."

* * *

Relj heard voices, some of them were gruff and low—while others were shrill and screech-like, but they were voices nonetheless. There was also the sound of convoluted metal mechanisms shifting and forming to allow progress throughout whatever facility she was in. The strange and un-Eruyt like machines let her know that this was a place where the presence of the Wood was absolutely nonexistent. This was a prison.

The ground below her felt strangely cool and hard as the guards behind her led her down a hallway and finally into a small enclosed space. Abruptly she felt large hands grab her legs and harassingly pull them apart as some type of undergarments were slid in between them. Relj screamed under her gag when they threw her down to the ground and roughly dragged a ragged and wool shawl down over her head and finally to cover the rest of her body. Afterwards they untied her cuffs and she heard the footsteps grow faint as they left the room and slammed some type of door behind her.

Weary and distempered, Relj removed her blindfold.

What came into view was mostly what she had expected. She was a in a small, confined room built with the strange silvery metallic substance that the elders bought from Humes to build stilettos. Never would she have thought that the strange metal could be manipulated into full structures. Then again, if it could be shifted to fit the shape of Vieran feet, why wouldn't it?

Spanning her view along the rest of the room she saw nothing but a small basin nestled in the floor, nearby was a toiletry. It was grotesque and filthy with a foul stench coming from it, and the only relief was a small breeze coming in from a barred window at the very top of the room near the roof. She rose from the floor in an attempt to breathe more fluidly, and at the pinnacle of her ascent she noticed to her left was a futon extending from the wall. It was plain and white, but seemed comfortable enough.

Near it was another bed—for whom, she wondered?

* * *

Fran moved swiftly with more agility than she thought was comprised within her thin frame. After the blatant and non-helpful hint from Jote Fran bounded out of the Hollow and skirted along the pathways towards the center the village. Her progress was generally unhindered save for the few common vieras that were either staying up late or waking up too early. She easily dodged them before proceeding down the set of stairways that led to the base of the village.

Unfortunately it was there that she discovered that early progression's easiness would be dampened upon. Stationed at the entrance to the village and throughout the whole central circle was an uncharacteristically large band of soldiers. At least a dozen of them if not slightly more, Fran presumed. Quickly she crept to a large mass of shrubbery nearby and crouched down. It was visible that most of the soldiers were sleepy, while others remained alert. The lot of them was taller than most vieras and they stood graceful with every step they took. Even standing still they maintained a certain air of profoundness that Fran hoped that she would gain after joining the army.

Her hesitation was supposed to be the start of a plan, but she couldn't decide what to do after she had hidden herself. She decided it best to just wait and asses the situation, after all, she had all night before Relj would be executed.

As she had noticed before, a majority of the soldiers seemed weary from the late work, and the rest that seemed apt to handle any danger that came their way. If there was a diversion (which Fran deemed the best action) it would probably be the latter that would go investigate, leaving the tired as the only obstacle. Fran would decide how to get past them when the time came.

Searching around the immediate area Fran noticed nothing but the tall grass and the many wooden Hollows that served other purposes besides dwellings. Just above her was a Hollow that sold crafting materials, adjacent to that towards Fran's left was a Hollow for groceries, and below that nearest the soldiers was a Hollow that…

_What is that Hollow's purpose? _Fran wondered, come to think of it, Fran couldn't recall anyone ever using that Hollow. Inspecting further, Fran noticed that the Hollow was severely rundown with large vines cascading along the sides of it towards the roof. The windows were satiated in moss, and darkness could be seen from the inside.

"Tis abandoned." Fran murmured silently, but memories of Relj made her correct herself. "It is abandoned." She said solemnly as she stood every so slightly and began to dart towards the abandoned Hollow. She was glad that she hadn't worn shoes lest the guards would've heard the metal shift the ground. Past the Bathhouse Hollow she noticed that one of the guards standing alert was none other than Amyre, the guard who had escorted her to the Elders' Temple. She seemed to be standing stronger than all of the soldiers.

When she reached the Hollow, she quickly grabbed a bed of dead leaves and piled them near the base of the vines. After a quick prayer that the soldiers would handle her plan deftly, she began to focus.

In her mind she summoned the strength of flame and felt the heat trace through her veins. It coursed powerfully through her body before she felt the burning pressure erupt in her fingertips; with a silent gasp she felt her hand ignite before she threw the flames to the pile of leaves. She was sweating, and she held her singed hands as the leaves caught fire and the flames spread brilliantly up the side of the Hollow. In just a few moments the entire structure was aflame, and the soldiers had caught sight of the massive flames.

To Fran's relief, all of the soldiers headed towards the building.

* * *

Relj sat upright and crossed-legged on her futon. She could hear noises from outside, all of them throaty and grotesque sounding, no doubt the voice of her identity-hidden oppressors. The voices were spastic and heavy, evidence that they were exerting a great amount of effort in some task. Relj stood up from her bed and headed to the door to listen more closely. The sounds were faint, and Relj had to heighten her senses to hear clearly.

Several grunts from the strange beasts.

Scraping along the ground by big feet, and something smaller was being dragged along the earth.

"**Stop! Please stop!**"

Relj gasp. That was Hume language; in a female voice no less. She refocused her hearing, this time prepared to translate quickly.

"Leave me be! Please—stop!" Sobs began to surface. "Please—I didn't do anything—I meant no harm!"

Relj sank back towards her bed when she heard the footsteps were nearing her door. The bed was for another prisoner just as she had thought. Abruptly, just as she sat on her bed the door was thrown open and the Hume woman was tossed into the cell. The door shut so quickly that Relj didn't get a chance to see what the beings were that existed in the cells.

But she could plainly see the Hume woman lying on the floor who wasn't even given the proper respect of being covered. The Hume woman who was the very one Relj was being punished for saving.

* * *

Fran had made it out of the jungle safely. After turning towards the direction Jote had instructed she quickly could see the small signs of struggle. Certain grass stems out of place, small rocks overturned, and the foul smell of—something—in the air. The scent was so unfamiliar that she could tell to what creature it belonged to. Nevertheless she began to follow the trail.

* * *

Relj stood and walked over to the dirtied Hume woman. The Hume had begun to cry powerfully, and her tears were dripping to the ground. Relj extended her hand.

"Are you okay?" She asked, at once she began to feel the strange lisp that came with speaking the Hume language.

The Hume turned her head upward, and Relj could see the large eyes and full lips that all the Humes in the region seemed to share. Her hair, which trailed to the middle of her back, was a bright blonde color, and her skin was smooth and faultless. The Hume was beautiful in all respects, and it seemed the color had returned to her face since Relj had seen her.

"It's, you." The Hume said.

Relj nodded and smiled. "Yes, my name is Relj. Take my hand—there's a bed over there if you need to lie down."

The Hume grasped Relj's hand and shakily stood to her feet. Her legs began to tremble severely and she almost stumbled several times as she made her way to the bed. As she reclined Relj grasped the small sheet from her bed and covered the Hume woman.

"Thank you." The Hume woman said tearfully. "You are so kind, this is the second time you've done something to save me."

"Yes, well I've found that you're more worthy of saving than any creature in my village."

Relj took her seat at her bed. "So, what has happened to you since we met?"

The Hume's eyes filled back up with tears at the question, and she looked down at the thin bedding without speaking. Relj was just about to retract the question when the Hume began to speak.

"My name is Yimenari, just so you know. After your people caught you at the entrance to your village they took me up to some strange building high above in the canopies. Once there I was thrown into a room of utter darkness and stripped of my clothing. Suddenly all these voices began to speak into my head, and began questioning me about why I came to the village. I told them the truth, but they said that I would still be executed because I was an outsider. That was when those horrid—_beasts_—captured me and brought me here."

Silence wove itself through the room as Relj didn't respond and noticed a small spider attempting to crawl through a crack, only to discover that the crack wasn't as large as it assumed and become stuck in the process. The irony, she thought. Relj turned back to Yimenari. "Why _were _you here? With a viera baby no less?"

"I came here looking for my husband." Yimenari said.

Relj's eyes widened. "Your husband? Why would he be here?"

"He was on the run. You see, he was a gambling man, and sometimes didn't know when to stop. His heart was usually in the right plan though; you see our family was very poor. So when he gambled he tried to do it in order to pay off debts and other bills."

Relj could understand the concept of what the woman was saying, but she hadn't exactly heard of bills.

Yimenari continued. "Well, one day a noble entered our city. And we also had a massive debt to pay off. My husband decided to take this opportunity to try to get the money we needed. Apparently the noble was staying a bar, and my husband challenged the man to a game of dice. My husband was losing, and needed something else to bet. So he wagered seven years of indentured service. The noble agreed, and they began to play the game. Unfortunately my husband lost again, and decided to run away from us and take refuge in Mt. Bur-Omisace until things died down."

"What happened to him?"

"Well, the noble sent two of his bodyguards after my husband. After that I never saw him. I heard from searching that he made it here awhile ago. So I followed, but the jungle just proved too much for me, and I would've died if you hadn't come along."

Relj's stomach quivered. "Your husband—you said he was followed by _two _pursers?"

"Yes, why?"

Relj's heart sank. There was no mistaking it; the man she had saved several months ago was Yimenari's husband. The memories came rushing back to her with painful stabs into her mind. She could recall it so clearly; she had saved the man from the two men, and nursed him back to health.

* * *

"_Thank you again for returning my life." The dirty blonde man said with a smirk as he held Relj's hands. "I don't know what I would've done hadn't you come along."_

_Relj's loins surged with heat and she couldn't help but smile as the man wrapped his arms around her waist. He held her tightly as they slowly began to kneel towards the ground and she felt his large palms lower to exposed buttocks. Her palms rested on his neck as she felt his soft lips began to trail kisses down her chest before lingering on her bosom with loving tenderness._

_She felt blissful in repeating her ritual, but doubt still hovered in her mind. "Alinair, I'm sorry for asking such a personal question right now, but…" She grasped his shoulders and pushed him back. "I'm afraid that I can't help but believe that you have a mate back in your hometown. I mean, Humes are allowed to coexist with their opposites sexes, so…"_

_Alinair pushed back to her and planted a deep kiss on her lips. "That is true. But I can assure you that there is nothing of the sort back at my home. I have no mate. I only care for you."_

_Relj sighed as she felt her body shiver under his. _

* * *

Relj's stomach lurched and she vomited just as Fran reached the entrance of the compound.**

* * *

ATmac05: Hoped you liked it, sorry again for the long wait.**


	5. There's No Fate Worse Than Death Part 2

ATmac05: Yes, I'm a loser, don't kill me

**ATmac05: Yes, I'm a loser, don't kill me. I know it's been like a year now since I last wrote. But I started a chapter then it got deleted, so I didn't feel like it anymore. Excuses, excuses, blah, blah blah, yatta, yatta, yatta. Please enjoy the chapter. Oh, and since it has been so long since I last wrote for this story, there may be some inconsistencies. So if there are details that I have forgotten, please don't hesitate to remind me. I'm kinda using this chapter as a sign of whether or not people are still interested in the story. So if you are be sure to review and let me know! **

* * *

_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Five**_

_**Escape Part Two: There's No Fate Worse than Death**_

"Thy may ask with whom the decision of death lies, but thou need not be bewildered. Thy death rests not within the hands of thyself, but with the Wood."

--Intricacy 84: 256

* * *

The thin vein of the Wood that seeped within the heart of all life was indiscernibly thin at the end of Fran's trail. The scattered clues of disturbed grasses and shifted dirt had led her to a giant wall lodged between two mountainous hills. The monolithic barricade was completely comprised of the blasphemous _iron _that Humes used. And it disturbed Fran to discover that her people would have a built a structure so absent of the Wood's presence.

Then again, she now wasn't particularly embracing the Wood with open arms either.

The hills encasing the walls were much too large to climb over. So Fran assumed another route must be taken. Carefully, she crept towards the large wall to try and ascertain another mode of entrance. The wall wasn't completely barren steel. An elaborate assortment of gears and cogs spun effortlessly across the expanse of the structure. From this Fran knew that there must be some sort of switch that will open the way.

_But where? _

Fran's ears twitched as a small buzzing encroached them. The familiar sound of approaching footsteps urged the tall Viera to take quickly refuge amongst a gathering of boulders nestled at the foot of the rocky hills. She waited a few moments before seeing a terribly large creature approach the wall. Due to the darkness of the night she couldn't surely make out its image. But it was grotesquely burly, and so tall that it seemed as if it could rival the very wall it was approaching. Fran's pulse quickened as the beast neared—for there was an immense level of Mist pulsating within the creature. It grunted heavily with every step, and there was an immense slurping sound as it stopped at the wall.

"_**Open the gate!**_" Fran heard the beast mutter something horribly unintelligible.

Just then her ears directed her to look at the top of the wall. A beast of equal girth had scaled from the other side. It surveyed the area below him, waved the lower beast off, and turned to his left to a thin cylinder jutting from the earth.

_The switch. _Fran thought, suddenly feeling foolish for not noticing it herself. Viera were supposed, in fact, to have very keen eyes.

What ever vision she did have, however, she used to watch the mechanism whir to even greater life as the beast above pulled the lever. The cogs and gears spun at a miraculous speed, and the heavy grating sound accompanying all things absent of the Mist filled the air. Fran held back whimpers as the noise massacred her ear drums, and she quivered as the wall began to shift.

It parted, as a canyon seems too against the eroding force of water, and the lower-positioned beast entered. The one up above removed itself from its perch and disappeared as well. The wall immediately began to reattach once its switch clicked back to its original position, but Fran made sure to take advantage of the opportunity before it closed completely.

"Hold on, Relj." Fran uttered as she slip through the gate.

* * *

Yimenari had nearly leaped from her futon in order to help the suddenly ailed Viera below her. The blonde Hume grasped Relj's shoulders in an effort to comfort her prison mate, and it wasn't long before Relj's convulsions stopped along with the vomiting.

"Are you alright?" Yimenari asked, stricken with confusion as Relj's sudden sickness.

The tall Viera pushed her hair behind her ear and recovered. "Yes…I'm—fine." But internally she wasn't. The faith in all people that her soul had sheltered for so long was suddenly torn asunder. So much of her life she had been devoted to finding the good in all people. She had disobeyed the Wood on several occasions just to feed her belief that all races were admirable. Being sure that none were no more detestable than the other—only now to discover that they were no less. The Viera, were hypocritical misanthropes that reveled in their own falsely justified isolation. And now, she could see that Humes were equally inclined to lie for their own benefit.

A part of Relj could no longer look at Yimenari the same. One part of her felt so guilty, for she had repeated her ritual with Yimenari's mate. The other part of her was angry at Yimenari for now putting her own life in danger for the sake of a man who had already forsaken her. He had selfishly run away from his family for his own foolish actions, and then he _used _Relj for his sinful benefit. And had escaped, probably hoping to never see his family again.

Relj was seething with anger.

Yimenari could feel it. "Are you sure you're okay?" She asked once again.

Relj didn't respond, she merely stood up and walked back to her futon and sat. Yimenari watched fearfully for a second, but then Relj finally spoke. "Yimenari," she said, "what do you expect to happen when you find your husband at Mt. Bur-Omisace?"

The question was asked coldly, and Yimenari was somewhat shocked. Believing the answer to be obvious. "Well, I suppose _if _I get to Mt. Bur-Omisace, I will rekindle the lost time with my husband. And we will then send for our children back at home. And then maybe we can start a new life somewhere where he can find a good job. Perhaps Archadia, or Rozaria." The hope in her voice was evident.

Relj sighed, "and Yimenari—what if—he has already done so?"

The Hume eyed her worriedly. "Done what?"

"What if he has already moved on? Will you continue to search for him?"

"Well, I doubt he will have done that. He would never abandon me. If not I, then definitely not our children."

"Then why hasn't he sent for you already?"

Yimenari lowered her head, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "I fear that something has happened to him. That jungle was treacherous, and with it being the quickest medium to the mountain I am almost certain he traveled through it. He may have been injured along the way. That is why I came after him. If something has happened to him, I have to be sure so that I can move on with my life and my children."

Even with the massive level of faith in all creatures slowly leaving Relj's heart. The Viera had not the strength to tell Yimenari that her husband had made it through the jungle, and was most certainly continuing on with his life. Of course, to explain that would lead to the explaining of his infidelity. And Relj's guilt would not allow that either.

* * *

Fran had not considered entering the complex right through the "front door" being the best course of action. But it was the only one. So she was relieved to find that the inside of the barricade was nearly as deserted as the outside. But her skin seemed to crawl at the absence of both Mist and the Wood.

The absence was precipitated by the iron that was _everywhere_. Several iron dwellings of all shapes and sizes lined the inner walls. They lacked windows; each structure regardless of size only had one door that was bolted to its front. Huge steel beams and railings so tall that Fran wondered how she hadn't seen them earlier loomed overhead.

_What are the Elders doing here? Is this really just a prison?_

The lack of the Wood's presence made the sudden breeze seem even colder against Fran's skin. And it was then that she wondered whether the Wood was a greater necessity than she had once supposed. But now was not the time for musing, she was standing stark at the entrance of a compound crawling with Mist-full beasts so standing still was not an option.

But where to start? Fran knew that wondering around aimlessly would just get her imprisoned. She would have to know where Relj was, and head directly there. Now the issue would be finding a reliable way to locate her.

Fran quickly cut her plans short, however, when she heard that familiar buzzing in her ears. Quickly scanning her surroundings, she bolted towards the closest steel structure and closed the door behind her.

She breathed a sigh of relief. The windowless feature of the structure had now become her saving grace. Fran moved forward a few steps in order to get a better view of the room she had ran into, hoping that there were no dangers. The room was mostly dark save for a small lamp nestled in one of the corners. What she could make out was nothing but a few rows of long tables situated next to one another. Wide chairs were tucked under the ends of each one, and Fran spun around to find a large granite board covered with white markings.

_This is some sort of teaching area. _She moved closer to the markings on the wall, seeing them now to be a mapping of several boxes. Each square was highlighted with a Hume letter, and arrows were drawn to and from each shape. Fran suppressed jumping for joy when she realized exactly what the drawing was off.

A map.

Pressing her hands against the wall, she began to quickly look over the map of the area attempting to synthesize it in her mind. She was nearly sure that she had it memorized when a powerful Mist began to seep into the room. Her head tightened at its strength, and when moonlight flooded the walls she turned toward the entrance.

Heavy grunting, a gargantuan burly figure, and large drooping ears met eyes with Fran.

* * *

"I still have one more question." Relj asked Yimenari as they sat on their respective futons almost in a daze. "You had a Vieran child with you. Why?"

Yimenari didn't look up, even through Relj had. "I was given her about seven years ago. At the time I didn't know that Vieran babies took so much longer to grow than others. I guess it is because your race lives for so much longer than mine."

Relj nodded Yimenari correctness. The latter continued. "Well, I was traveling through Rabanastre one morning doing the grocery shopping with what little money I had. When I met a Viera, and apparently, her Hume mate."

Relj's eyebrows lifted upon hearing this. The prospect made her feel as if she wasn't the only sinner of the Viera. "The Viera's name was Belayre, and her partner's, Maryis. They were having an argument in the middle of the street. Of what I don't know, but it ended with Maryis slapping the Viera to the ground."

Relj cringed at hearing about another Hume taking advantage of a Viera. Another thing was equally disturbing. The name Belayre was familiar just as well. Fran knew her, Relj knew that for certain.

"I went over to the Viera. I could see that she was very hurt, and I when I asked her what was wrong she didn't respond. She did tell me that she didn't have anyone to help her anymore, and the baby that you know of was in her arms."

"Why was she there? Did she run away with that Hume?" Relj asked impatiently.

"I suppose so. She told me that they had been together for several years after she had left her home with her child. But they were having problems. Apparently he had been cheating on her."

If a Hume male had walked into the room at that very second, Relj could not have guaranteed his safety.

Yimenari solemnly told the rest of her story. She spoke of how she took the Viera into her home. It was in her dwelling that they spoke of the Viera and how her love for her husband hadn't been returned in recent years. Yimenari also told Relj that the Viera spoke of having two more daughters back in the jungle that she had come from. Relj listened attentively, sometimes finding herself more interested in finding Belayre's connection to Eruyt rather than the actual story.

"Things seemed to be going rather well." Yimenari said. "Until one day she just—left. All that remained of her was note saying that she was sorry, and her child. I never saw her after that. And I took the baby in for myself."

"What was the baby's name?"

"I never could pronounce it correctly. But from what Belayre said it sounded like, Mjrn."

* * *

Fran somersaulted to the side as the monstrous figure lunged at her. It slammed into the floor as she regained her footing and skirted around him towards the door. The entrance seemed just within reach until a suddenly airborne table smashed her in the back and sent the Viera spiraling into the wall.

Vision blurry, she recuperated just in time to see a large claw grab her by the neck and lift her high into the air. The figure before her was something unlike she had ever seen before. A wide coppered face was blazoned with over-sized thick veins. The likes of which covered the entire beast body from its thick face to its muscular legs. Fran recoiled as she watched thick globs of spit form at the corner of the beast's mouth. And a realization hit her when the she once again saw the dropping ears of the large monster.

_You're a Viera…_

Fran was immediately flung across the room to be slammed against another wall. And she landed to feel a sharp kick in her side. She tumbled wearily back into the shelf.

Blood had begun to slide down her forehead.

Fran's head was pained with the thick concentration of Mist that filled the room because of the beast, and her stomach lurched as the larger Viera made its way towards her.

_This…Mist…is…overpowering….the beast…must…be…full…of…it. _

The beast slowly proceeded, and in this short amount of time Fran had a revelation about the strong Mist in the room. It had come from a lesson in which Jote had instructed her about the Mist's ability to increase magic potency. Feeling her death to be eminent; Fran allowed the heat of her fear and anger circulate throughout her loins. It traced the very crevices of her skin before centralizing at her fingertips and erupting as she screamed:

"Fire!" The Mist empowered blast of flames shot through the air and encased the giant Viera. Its roar of pain seemed to ricochet off the walls as it jerked and spun without regard as to what it crashed into. The flames seemed to seize its silvery hair the most as the beast wailed with every ounce of remaining strength in its body before it suddenly fell to the ground.

"The time seems most appropriate to leave now." Fran said quietly as she jumped up and headed out the door. The diagram of the compound was etched in her mind, and Relj was being held captive northward.

* * *

Relj and Yimenari jumped up from their futons when a jarring alarm began to sound through the air.

"What's happening?" Yimenari was looking all around her as if the answer was hidden somewhere in the room.

Relj ran over to the iron door locking them in. "Someone whose not supposed to be here must have entered this God-forsaken iron monster."

Yimenari felt a tinge of hope. "Could it be someone here to help us?"

Relj was about to answer when she heard the sound of footsteps galloping away from their cell. Whomever had entered the compound was about to be met with myriads of resistance. Of course, that also meant that a huge distraction was about to take place.

"Relj?" Yimenari asked again, noticing that the Viera was deep in thought.

"I do not know if the intrusion is in our favor. But I think we should use the distraction to make it so. We cannot stay cooped in here just to let ourselves be eventually killed."

Relj's ears told her that most of the guards were running away from the prison area back towards the surface, so she had to be quick.

"Help! Help me!" Relj screamed, hoping the beasts' could understand her language. Yimenari looked onward in disbelief as the Viera continued to scream at the top of her lungs. The cries seemed to fall on deaf ears as they sound of trumpeting footsteps still continued to parade past the cell. But finally Relj stopped after seeing one of the monsters look in the direction of the cell.

"Help me, please!" She called out once again as the lone monster remaining in the area moved towards her cell. "Could you come in here please? There's something attacking us!"

Yimenari's bones started to rattle with fear, and Relj seemed confident as the beast (who she got a good look at for the first time) unbolted the door and stepped in.

The poor dim-witted creature couldn't have foreseen what happened. It was only an instant in between the time Relj's elbow collided with the monster's face, and she grabbed the Hume and escaped from the cell.

* * *

The alarm suddenly being sounded was indeed disheartening. But the long-haired Viera summoned her courage as she continued to run deeper into the compound. The map had shown her that the entrance area was indeed nothing but the iron blocks that were situated for their purposes. But the actual prison area was located in tunnels underground. The entrances to these tunnels were nearly at the northernmost point of the area. And Fran's long legs guided her towards that point as swiftly as they possibly could.

But once again deterrents arose. And Fran almost screamed as dozens of the deformed Vieras surfaced seemingly out of nowhere. All of their deadly eyes centered on her as they sprinted towards her.

Fran muttered a few Vieran curses before deciding on a detour. The enlarged Vieras were all coming from one direction—decidedly the entrance to the prison, Fran thought. Getting past them was necessary if she was going to save her friend.

In her immediate area was nothing but the large iron structures. One just adjacent to her had a large pile of iron cases and other metal wares leaning right against it. Knowing that the ground wasn't the best place to be at the moment, Fran nimbly scurried towards the cases and climbed to the top of the structure. The sheer numbers of her pursuers became all the more evident as she stood above them.

_Leisure is not an option now. Go!_ She mentally scolded herself for the hesitancy before she began to leap from structure to structure, running northward as fast as she could. Thankfully the iron buildings were in close proximity to one another, otherwise the leaps would have taken a lot more energy out of her than normal. The Vieras below her knew quickly her plan, and all shifted their direction back towards the prison's entrance. Most, however, began to lunge all types of weapons and projectiles in her direction. Fran's constant movement fortunately kept her protected for the most part. Other Vieras attempted to climb up to her, but most could not reach the rooftops, and none were smart enough to look for the same help she had used in climbing.

Soon the north entrance was visible, and like the map suggested it was built into the side of a rocky cliff wall. The only natural earth left in the entire area. Fran's heart grew heavy as the new task of finding her friend seemed even more difficult now that an entire brigade of enemies pursued her.

At least until she saw two figures emerge from the cliff wall.

* * *

The looks on Relj and Yimenari's faces were not particularly uplifting when they left their prison only to find dozens of guards heading back in their direction. Although, Relj could see that something above them was keeping them distracted. Only a few actually looked forward as they ran.

"What is happening?" Yimenari muttered shakily.

Relj turned her eyes to the sky. Seeing what the monsters were pursuing and she screamed.

"Fran!"

Yimenari turned in the same direction. "Who?"

"My friend is up there. She's the other Viera that came to your aid. We must help her! But how?"

Yimenari turned away from the Viera just in time to see that a few of the guards had indeed noticed them and were running full speed ahead to follow suit. She pulled on Relj's arm after noticing.

"We have our own problems to attend to!"

Relj suddenly became acquainted with the danger as well. She grunted. "What are these things? Ugh—Fran!"

With a somewhat gazelle like leap the shorter Viera bounded from the last structure closest to the entrance and landed with a somersault next to her old friend. The two screamed a Hume-like squeal before embracing once again.

"Fran I am so pleased that you came to rescue us!"

"I could not let those Elders kill you for having a heart!" Fran said warmly. "But our problems have not abandoned us yet. We have those _things_ to contend with."

What happened next was an occurrence just short of a miracle. As Fran, Relj, and Yimenari stood bracing for the oncoming danger. A powerful spark of flame seemed to catch the immense Mist circulating throughout the land and explode throughout the monsters. Many of them were blown to the side, while others were enflamed to a degree much larger than the monster than had confronted Fran.

And suddenly, in the midst of these superbly singed tyrants was a large yellow bird galloping through the crowd. On its back perched a tall figure, silvery hair, great green robes, and an eyebrow raised almost as high as the moon.

"Jote!" Relj and Fran screamed in unison. "We're so h—"

"Quiet!" The soon-to-be priestess yelped before nearly throwing the two Viera and the Hume onto the Chocobo's back. With a quieted scream so elegant that only a Viera could utter it, they sprinted through the compound. Many of the guards had recovered and attempted to resume their pursuit, but the nimble bird and Jote's Fira spells managed to avert the dangers. And once they had breached the huge gate of the compound the monsters, almost magically, stopped dead in their tracks.

* * *

The Golmore still retained that cold darkness that had housed so many tribulations throughout the years. And with those tribulations came a strangely substantive secrecy that neither the Wood, nor the green word of the Intricacy could abolish. Sometimes the former seemed to even perpetuate it.

The four rested at the blue barrier that prevented the Humes progress through the jungle. And that same secrecy seemed to shroud them all at that very moment.

A shaky Jote stood at the forefront of the group, preparing to remove the barrier.

"I grew frightened when I told you where to find Relj, Fran. The Elders have told me of a secret area where the male Viera are forced and trained to house prisoners against the Wood and the Viera. But I knew very little about that place, and I suddenly felt as if I had sent you to your doom."

Fran scoffed. "'Training' is a very loose word for what they do there. All of that Hume metal was so absent of life—of the Wood. I doubt the Elders merely use that area as a prison. There is a shroud of secrets there of which the Elders wish to keep us naïve. I am sure of that. Jote, I was told that male Vieras are purified after the ritual. Is pumping them with dangerous amounts of Mist the Elder's perception of purification?"

Jote sighed deeply. A dividing ridge seemed to form in her soul from that day on. "Fran, tis not our responsibility to know what the Wood tells the Elders to do."

Relj cut in. "The Wood? Fran! The Wood does not advocate lying! The Elders have told us that Iron is a sinful metal of the Humes that is devoid of the Mist and therefore unnatural. Why then, have they used it so flagrantly?"

"I do not know, Relj, but it is not for us to know."

Relj and Fran eyed Jote with a severe disbelief. This Viera, of whom they had looked to for so much knowledge, was suddenly disregarding common sense for the sake of the Wood—and the Elders. The two Viera knew that something was deeply amiss.

"Yimenari," Relj said to the Hume who had been quiet the entire time. "I believe I will escort you to Mt. Bur-Omisace."

Fran's eyes widened. "What? Relj, no! You can't leave!"

Relj lowered her head. "I have to Fran. I escaped from prison; the Elder would most surely kill me. I even wonder if at this very moment the Wood has told them of my escape. Regardless Fran, I cannot live in this place any longer. I have lost faith in my people here. And even though I doubt that there is much for me elsewhere, I must go and find out."

Relj's friend was nearly driven to tears, "but…"

"No Fran." Jote said. "This is the only way. She has disobeyed the Wood. Exile is the only alternative to death. The Hume and she must go."

Relj looked at Yimenari and beckoned her forward. "Jote, do not call it exile. For no one is forcing me to leave. I am choosing to. I am choosing to live, and not stay in this false jungle and die. You should try living for yourself too." Jote tried to ignore her comment, but a sadness in her eyes proved that she had listened. "And Fran, I know you will find your way. Be wary of this _Wood_. And take care of the Vieran baby—I think she may be your sister."

Fran and Jote both gasped at hearing this. They knew that a Hume man had come into their home and killed their mother in the middle of the night. At least, that is what the priests had told them the morning they awoke to find their mother absent.

"Are you sure, Relj?" Fran asked.

Relj nodded. "But if I am wrong, why not treat her as if she was anyway?" Relj smiled, the last vision Fran had of her friend before she left.

Yimenari said nothing as she followed the Viera deeper into the forest. She did turn back to Fran for a split second and mouthed, "thank you."

* * *

**ATmac05: Alright, so hoped you liked it. Towards the end I noticed that it started to feel a little—theatrical—nevertheless I hope you guys enjoyed it. Remember to review if you are still interested in the story. And I want to apologize once again for the extremely long wait. (Oh and I spell checked on the computer but I didn't read over it, so if there are numerous mistakes I apologize!)**


	6. Yet Time Goes On

ATmac05: Hello everyone, new chapter

**ATmac05: Hello everyone, new chapter. Hope you like it. I found myself really thinking hard about what I wanted this chapter to include, cause it's kind of a transition chapter. But it's very important because it gives the **_**reasons**_** for Fran's transition. So I hope I satisfy everyone! And sorry for the really slow updates. I'm really not planning on stopping this story. I'm just an asshole. As always feel free to email me or leave comments on what you liked and didn't like.**

* * *

_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Six**_

_**Infinity Turns Finite: Yet Time Goes On**_

"Thine all powerful Wood allows for the free flow of Time. Thy Wood has the ability to halt it—shall it please it so. Thy Wood has the ability to sculpt it boundlessly—shall it please it so. So thy must respect thine Time spent in this realm, for thy Wood blesses thou with its gift of Time."

--Intricacy 687: 23

* * *

Though the events transpiring in her life left her feeling hopelessly confused, debased, and melancholy on several occasions. Fran had to face a startling conclusion that life, did in fact, go on. She felt life continuing when she noticed herself gaining more length in her legs and girth in her bust. She felt life continuing when Jote had finally advanced to Third Priestess. And she felt life continuing when she gazed upon her beautiful little sister, who had grown into a dangerously inquisitive child. Her life, and the essence of it, had not faltered or halted because of past transgressions. What had changed, however, was her outlook on it.

Fran had been afflicted in all aspects of her person because of the occurrences that were now over a decade into the past. She discovered herself to be almost atheistic in her belief in the Wood. The Elder's used their power of mind reading and magicks as proof of the existence of the Wood. But Fran surmised that their power cannot be any different than her ability to espouse fire—along with an array of other spells that she had learned since her younger days. The rejection of the Wood's ethereal power led to a rejection of the tangible Intricacy—and finally into an overall doubt of all things Wood and/or Wood related.

The sole remaining thing that Fran could not inherently reject was the voice of Nature that every Viera could hear, albeit some stronger than others. Fran discovered this ability to be particular to Vieras, and for that reason Fran could not amass a viable conclusion for its being other than a spiritual one. But for that reason Fran took to natural sciences and mathematics more than any Viera within Eruyt in an attempt to draw her own conclusions. Her favorite branch of her studies being an alchemic study adopted largely from Moogles—and therefore ignored by many of her own kind.

But of course, Fran kept all these hypotheses secret from Jote. The Wood seemed to be working much too exquisitely for her.

* * *

Fran had had two punishments following her trial by the Elders. The first of which was to take care of Mjrn. The task was initially only supposed to be necessary for a decade, but Fran had recently appealed to the Elders for it to be much longer. "Forever" being inclusive to that time limit. It had seemed that ever since Relj had unveiled the possibility of Mjrn being a blood sister to Fran, the latter was forced to be enthralled in the baby Viera.

Fran originally wanted nothing to do with the child, for she saw within the baby a sense of sin. A reminder of her lost best friend, and an even greater spiral of confusion as to the whereabouts of Fran's mother. Jote wanted even less to do with Mjrn. The eldest sister was much too busy with progressing within her own life to be seen with the Tainted Child that everyone in the village was talking about.

And everyone _was_ talking.

Fran gradually grew accustomed to Mjrn. The first incident of this newfound tolerability being on a day when Fran was once again arguing with Jote about the length of her hair.

"Tis sinful for your hair to be that long, Fran! Either you cut it yourself or I will most surely arrange an appointment myself."

"I care not what you or all of Eruyt thinks of my hair! Its length shall be my choice and mine alone."

Jote narrowed her eyes at her sister, a gesture that had replaced her furrowing brow. "As you wish _dear_ sister." Jote spat. "But rest assured, abusing your prerogatives will yield you no avail!" And with that Jote stormed out of their Hollow, Fran could still remember the obnoxiously large ruffles of Jote's robes sliding through the door behind her.

It was then that Mjrn, who had been crawling around absent mindedly on the bed, reached her arms out to beckon Fran. The older viera scowled and reluctantly lifted the baby into the air. Suddenly, as if Mjrn knew of Fran's agitation, she reached out and grabbed a tuft of Fran's hair. Mjrn laughed, and Fran saw within her eyes a brightness that she had never seen before.

Fran smiled. "At least someone likes my hair." She said before kissing Mjrn for the first time.

Ever since that moment Fran began to feel a sort of recrudescence when it came to Mjrn. For years Fran felt like she was becoming an outcast because of her values and her own natural spirit. The village whispered about her behind her back, constant notices from the Elder's reminded her of her punishment, and even the sanctity of her Hollow was dismembered by Jote's quips. But then there was Mjrn. Who laughed at everything that Fran did. Who smiled so brightly when held by Fran. Who basked in the joy of learning new things from Fran. When it came to her younger sister, Fran felt like she was always doing right. And the brightness in Mjrn's eyes never told her differently.

Yet sometimes, despite her happiness, Fran wished that Mjrn would admire Jote more. It was safer. Her little sister shouldn't admire the sinner, the rebel. No, she should adore the Third Priestess, who was loved by everyone in the village. Who would be permitted to have another ritual, who would be escorted to the Afterlife if indeed there was one.

But Mjrn did not feel that way, in the least. And sometimes that was all Fran needed to know.

* * *

There had been one remaining punishment, and it consisted of training and finally service to the Eruyt Arms. The chief of head of which were the Elders, and the leading commander being Amyre.

The fateful day that commenced her services would forever hold a stinging place in Fran's heart.

* * *

A week in Hume time after Mjrn had reached her sixth birthday, (which was the anniversary of her first assignation with Fran), Fran received an official notice from the Eruyt Arms Recruiting Bureau stating that induction was down and therefore her services would finally be needed. Fran was appalled to say the least. After years of not hearing from the military she had hoped that her additional punishment had somehow slipped into oblivion. But the ivory parchment she held in her hands told her otherwise.

"What is that, sister?" Fran heard a light voice inquire from behind her.

It was of course, little Mjrn, whose silky hair was wrapped upward in bun accented with genuine gargoyle.

"It's a letter." Fran replied, purposely beating around the bush.

"Saying what?" Mjrn continued.

Fran eyed her little sister carefully, and nothing in her face deemed her prepared for the news. So dismissal took priority. Though, she really did hate lying to her sister.

"Just matters concerning Jote's priesthood. That's all. You know, Inervi came by asking for you earlier. You should go play with her."

Mjrn smiled brightly. "Sister, Jote says tis not good to lie." Fran stammered quickly but Mjrn interjected. "You never look me straight in the eye when you lie and then you always propose I do something else. But tis okay, Fran. I think you should tell me when you are ready. The Intricacy says that 'preparation is the supreme offense against all enemies of the Wood.' The same principal most surely applies to lesser matters." With that, Mjrn scampered off—leaving Fran scolding herself for helping to raise such a monster.

"She is truly much too wise for a six year-old. Perhaps I should make Jote spend more time with her—that will surely keep her from expressing herself so freely." Fran giggled at her little joke before turning her attention to a few Hollow chores.

* * *

At around dusk Jote returned home, gaudy robes and all. She had unceremoniously seemed to break into a sweat, and actually looked rather distressed when entering the Hollow. Fran had been busy cooking dinner when she noticed her sister clumsily making her entrance although doing her best to maintain some sort of poise.

"Hard day?" Fran asked unremorsefully as she added seasoning to the boiling pot.

"Yes." Jote simply replied. "The Upper Priests are making the trainings much more unbearable. Today they tried to teach us a high level of Arcane Magick. A type that causes numerous beings within a certain radius to slow down. There was Hume name assigned to it—but I forget."

The priestess trudged over to the closet and removed her heavy robes in favor of a dainty rouge night gown. Like all Viera-fare it showed impressive amounts of skin, stopping just shy of the bottom of the buttocks. It revealed a generous supply of bosom as well.

"That spell _is _hard." Fran replied.

Jote raised an eyebrow. "You're familiar?"

Fran nodded. "That particular spell in question uses natural energies to constrict bone joints, impair vision, and slows neurological signals to the brain. That in itself requires a lot of effort—to attempt it on more than one being at a time must be unimaginably daunting. How'd you do?"

The elder sister stared blankly, obviously impressed. "I fared—decently well. How do you know about that spell Fran? The priests told us that the Wood only imparts knowledge of it to specific Vieras."

Fran could have told her dear sister that the spell was included in an anthology of spells published by an ancient Moogle philosopher. She also could have told her that the book was included in the Reference Section of the Eruyt Hollow of Archives. But why rob her sister of the feeling of being 'privileged'?

"I overheard one of the priests talking about it one day." It was a poor lie, but enough to maintain Jote's security in her priesthood so she inquired no further.

Fran decided as she began making the plates that this was the perfect time to notify Jote of the letter.

"I finally received word from Eruyt Arms." She turned and set a plate in front of Jote, who ate a forkful.

"Oh? What did it say?"

Fran set down the third plate for Mjrn. "It says they finally want me to join. I have a Hume week to pack a few amenities and then leave to the barracks on the edge of Eruyt."

"Saddening." Jote said unconvincingly. "But after disobeying the Wood tis very honorable that you now have the chance to serve it valiantly. Especially since the Humes are expanding their territory and beginning to fight amongst one another once again. In perilous times like these we need to make sure that the Golmore stays secure from outsiders."

Fran scoffed. It wasn't _we_ who would be doing anything. It would be Fran, and whoever else was unlucky enough to be included in the military. Jote would be too busy learning _hard _spells and serving an imaginary god. Fran moved over to the Hollow window where she quickly called for Mjrn to come to dinner. Afterwards she turned back to Jote and took her seat at the table.

"Jote, my chief concern is the caretaking of Mjrn in my absence."

"What of it?" Between sips of a hot tea. "Despite her being _your_ responsibility I will spare no effort in making sure that she is taken care of properly. She is thankfully very adept at remembering scripture and laws—and as long as she remains that way I foresee no trouble."

"But Jote you are always so busy with your priestess duties. How can I be sure that you will have the time to watch over her?"

"The Priests spare no expense for their disciples. I am sure that they will be willing to higher a nurse in my stead."

"So basically you expect our little Mjrn to be raised by someone she doesn't even know while I am gone?" Fran's tone had risen. "That's unacceptable Jote."

The Third Priestess laughed. "Unacceptable, Fran? You are hardly one who has the right to determine what is and isn't acceptable. Besides, there is no other choice. Had you not gotten yourself involved with conflict you would not have these things to worry—"

"_That_, is beside the point, Jote! The fact of the matter is I _do_ have this responsibility and I would like to count on you—"

"To pick up your slack? No Fran, these are your problems and you will handle them as such. For the sake of Mjrn she will be provided with a nurse when I am unable to attend to her. But that is all I can do. Which is very generous considering she is not my problem!"

Fran stood up. "She is not a _problem_. She is your _sister_, whether you want to acknowledge that or not!"

Unbeknownst to the two elder sisters the little viera in question had been sitting outside the Hollow doorway to hear the bulk of the conversation

Jote stayed sitting, and said nothing while she looked at her younger sister with a tired veracity in her eyes. "I cannot just _assume _she is my sister just because your treacherous friend appoints her as such. Now—familial relevancy is of no importance right now, Fran. The issue at hand is what will happen to her while you are gone. She _will_ be taken care of, whether by me directly or by an appointed nurse. If you disagree with this I am sorry. But you are most certainly not in any position to make demands here, _sister_. Maybe next time you will think twice of committing crimes against the Wood."

With that, and a swing of her head Jote grabbed her plate and retreated to her room for the remainder of the night. Fran growled angrily and complimented the cry of rage with a slam to the table. _Damn her_. She thought.

Mjrn entered, rather calmly despite what she had heard. Fran looked at her with sullen, guilty eyes.

"Mjrn…I…"

"Are you leaving, Fran?" Mjrn asked.

* * *

The Eruyt Arms Barracks were quiet and lonely. Unlike the other numerous Hollows that dotted the village the barracks were not built into the sides of grand trees. Nor did they retain a variety of oblong shapes and positions. The majority of them were cubes, and were built in separate units lined up in a perfectly regimented fashion. Larger wooden cubes could be seen further in the distance; Fran assumed they served other purposes.

The new recruits, like the barracks, were lined up. It was an approximate 50 of them. All of whom where much taller than Fran, and certainly more muscular. Many of them reminded Fran of Wern, though she tried to block those rude judgments from her mind.

They stood lined up in front of four Vieras. Three behind, one in front. All of them viciously tall, and viciously muscular. They wore a silver metallic uniform that all Vieras within the military were required to wear, and their equally silver hair was cut short to ear length. One of the Vieras had almost no hair at all.

The tallest Viera of them all stood in front, and was none other than Commander Amyre herself. The head officer of the Vieran military had a presence that Fran could be described in no other words but majestic. She was powerfully built, with sinewy muscles built into every fragment of her copper skin from her strong thighs to her heavy bosom. Both her hair and eyes shined brilliantly white. And they only seemed to accent the high cheekbones that kept this Viera looking fierce in every way. She was clearly a force to be reckoned with. And if her stature did not convince you, the huge bow that seemed to coalesce into her long fingers would most surely sway you.

The recruits had all been instructed to wear a white bodysuit which was massively uncomfortable seeing that all Viera were used to more liberating clothing.

"Welcome recruits!" Amyre called out to them in her trumpeting voice. "Most of you should know me by now. If you do not, I am Commander Amyre of the Ishanti Hollow. I am the Head Officer of Eruyt Arms. As Head Officer I am in charge of _everything_ here. All Division Heads must get everything approved by me. All complaints are addressed to me. I see all! I know all! Your fate is in my hands! So I would do my best to make sure that you allow these to be good hands."

Fran hoped that the metaphor meant to remain on Amyre's good side. The Commander paced back and forth in front of the recruits as she spoke.

"From this moment forward you shall address me as, Commander. Simple enough, no? If you are given an order you are to reply affirmatively by placing your right hand over your heart and saying 'Sworn.' You are to say this loud, and proudly! More Eruyt Arms procedures will be explained by Temperance Specialist Domovini to my left here." She signaled to the nearly bald Viera of the three standing behind her.

She continued pacing and speaking, seemingly gaining more confidence as the faces of the recruits started to grow more worrisome. "Recruits, understand that we live in dangerous times. We as Viera of the Wood do our best to remain within our lands. But, sadly, there are many races that wish to usurp our territory and drive us into their sinful lands of the Wood-less machinery. _All _races are out to destroy us—but we will not let them! We will stand firm against the tyrannical races. We will show them that we are a people of pride. We will make our Wood proud! Will you do this recruits?"

Fran in all of her intelligence, somehow immediately forgot the first lesson that Amyre taught them. When the question was asked, Fran heard her lips mutter "yes" under a drowning of "Sworns" said by the other recruits. The poor Viera even failed to place her hand over her heart as she said it.

Amyre, whose eyes and ears were one of the most keenest of all Vieras, noticed this quickly.

"Well, well, well. I get to set an example my first day with the new recruits. Fran, dearest. Descend."

The "dearest" was painfully sarcastic. Nor did it help that Fran didn't know what Amyre meant by her command to Descend, it took a stout Viera next to her to mean that the command meant to fall out and in front of Amyre. Fran grumbled and followed suit.

Amyre was no less tall up close than she was from a distance.

"Fran, I know you and your sister well. She has gone on to become great—while you seem to have fallen from grace. I know why you're here. I thought it unjust at first, but seeing that you cannot even follow simple directions proves that you do need a tad more discipline."

Fran was ready for the repercussions, and Amyre was the last person she would allow to talk down to her.

"Respectfully," Fran started, "it was a mistake that I will surely learn from, Commander. If anything I believe more time is wasted by your choosing to reprimand me through humiliation when you could be enlightening the recruits on how we must 'destroy the tyrannical races.'"

Whether it was Fran's fragrant dismissal of Amyre's attempted scolding or Fran's much too smug mockery of Amyre's opinion on other races—Fran did not know. But she was suddenly struck in her back and sprawled out on the floor like a pitiful insect.

Amyre stood beaming. "Ah, recruits. I want you to watch the veracity of this recruit!" She subsequently kicked Fran in her side. "She has a fearlessness that all recruits will need against our enemies." Another devastating kick. "But _only_ against our enemies. Recruits rest assured that if you ever try to talk to a superior officer like Fran here has, you will be severely punished."

The orientation continued, the remaining recruits listened attentively—inspired by Fran's current position. And sadly, Fran was not allowed to stand up once again until the speech was over. So she laid upon the ground, silenced, as she had felt over the past few years.

The speech that Amyre delivered rather forcefully, yet eloquently, mirrored the teachings of the Wood that were pounded into Fran's cranium each day. Fran had to take the speech in truth, being allowed no opinion on their quintessence unless it was synonymous with shameful conformity. Any form of dissention would leave one dismembered, shattered, or more appropriately, left to remain on the ground in obedience.

This was her life.

Tears gathered in Fran's eyes as she lay upon the cold earth. This was no home. A home does not make one feel alienated. A home does not remove one's sense of precious uniqueness. Viera prided themselves on their intelligence. Why then, were they forced to only think a certain way? In the pit of her heart a feeling of immense anxiousness began brewing. Fran realized that as long as she lived in this mental wasteland she would be forced into this position. The short end of everlasting oppression.

_This is really why Relj left. Sins can be forgiven, or better yet, forgotten. But this village forced her to not be true to herself. I wish I could be there with you Relj…I wish I could be myself—with you. _

* * *

Fran's revelations inspired her. She longed to be in a place where she could be herself without opposition. But sadly, running was not a choice for her. Her sisters being two reasons for that. And Fran deduced that being true to oneself matters least in an environment where it is easy to be.

No.

She would remain in this—dare she say it, she once scorned Relj for saying it—God forsaken village. And she would continue to follow her beliefs.

She yearned to accomplish things in spite of, not because of.

Over the years Fran gathered an understanding that the military attitude was one that heavily insisted on uniformity. For some reason or another, the medium to gather that uniformity was the suppression of the individual for the sake of the whole. Fran grappled with this for her first few years of dealing with the military. But once she understood the system she realized that it was harmless as long as she maintained her resilience.

There were ways to stand out in the military, and rebellion was not always one of those ways.

For one, it did not take a significant amount of time before the superiors realized that Fran was nothing short of a genius. The most rudimentary classes were on basic strategy. And the long-haired viera seemed to have a deep understanding of the subject. Not only did she surmise many of the "next step" sequencing problems before the teacher was able to teach the lesson. Fran challenged them. Often times finding weaknesses and inconsistencies in the strategies that were in fact, some of the same reasons that Vieran-kind lost certain battles in Eruyt History. In an attempt to provide sanity for some of the teachers, Fran was promoted to more challenging classes along with some other high-caliber students. Nevertheless, she excelled in those just as well.

Fran also spared no excellence in the realm of athleticism as well. She got the chance to impress many teachers during learning regiments. But Fran relished training and weapons exercises as they were the only chances to impress commanders. Amyre especially, who triggered within Fran a personal need to excel.

They Vieran recruits were trained in swordsmanship, machinery, and even Magicks. But Fran seemed to have a particular aptitude for archery. It manifested itself during her very first practice where she was the only Viera to consecutively hit all ten bulls-eyes. Amyre (who was in charge of archery training) began giving Fran personal attention upon seeing this astounding potential.

Suffice it to say, the Eruyt Arms had become a gargantuan asset to Fran despite the initial dismay it caused Fran.

* * *

But like all things in Fran's life that dared be called happiness. It would have to come to a deafening, screeching, halt.

About three years had elapsed since Fran's admission into the Arms. Her requirement had only been two years, but her aptitude for the military led to her decision to stay for a longer amount of time. The benefit to this being that the third year (since it wasn't a technical punishment) allotted her time to return to her Hollow for a time. These seldom breaks allowed her to see that Mrjn was growing up to be just as beautiful as her sisters, and no less headstrong. She also managed to keep her arguments with Jote to a minimum—it seemed the farther apart they were, the closer they became.

But the incident that led to the end of Fran's military career came in between one of these breaks. More specifically, during one of her practices with Amyre. Who, strangely enough, opted for the training to be in her Consulting Quarters rather than the archery grounds.

Fran had entered the quarters, where she saw the ever-hulking Amyre sitting at a pine wood desk writing on a few parchments. The room was very clean, and surprisingly tranquil for an army commander. There were several plants scattered throughout the inside of the Hollow. And the smell of Echo Herbs was seemingly laced into the air. Amyre signaled for Fran to take a seat in chair opposite her desk.

"Welcome Fran." Amyre said warmly. The complete opposite of how she had been on Fran's first day. "I have called you here today for a special reason. If you could not tell by the change of scenery."

Fran, always alert, merely sighed her acknowledgment of the commander's words before eyeing the room some more.

Amyre stood up suddenly. "I was very hasty in the way I treated you when you first arrived. To me, you seemed so arrogant and naïve. So young. Had I ever surmised that you had such unrivaled potential festering within you I never would have treated you so harshly."

Fran smirked. "I would say 'culminating' more so than 'festering.' And as much as I would hope to enjoy your apology—I still find myself wiping the dirt out of my teeth since your little _lesson. _Commander." Fran added the final honorific to lessen the sharpness of her reply. She was honestly and completely joking of course.

Amyre recognized this and laughed. And followed by walking over behind Fran, placing her hands on her shoulders. "Your cleverness is merely a branch on your tree of assets." Fran felt a strange shiver go down her spine when Amyre began to massage her shoulders. "I should've known what that you would mature into such a beautiful woman Fran."

The younger viera once again found herself uncomfortably speechless. 'What…Amy—Comman…what are you doing?"

Amyre's large hands became even more present as they began to work their away across Fran's body. Massaging her copper skin, caress the expanse of her breast, and lowering into the lower folds of her body suit.

"Fran," Amyre had begun to whisper into Fran's heightened ears. "I always take notice of the Viera under my leadership who have unyielding potential and I always find myself wanting to—_share_—in that potential."

And that was it. That statement opened the floodgates of awareness into Fran's mind. The hypocrisy of the Elders using their own kind to manufacture the Hume-infested steel. Jote's constant chastising of Fran in order to keep up appearances. Relj's repetition o her ritual. And even Amyre's unwanted, unexpected, and most certainly un-Wood advances—amounted to one thing.

Selfishness.

The Wood and its principles were founded on that one thing. The Wood commanded that the entire race of Viera did what was only good for itself. And subsequently, its followers demanded respect for themselves under the guise of the Wood. Fran realized that her culture and religion was founded on immoral and base selfishness. And its deadly spiral corrupted others into perpetuating its hypocrisy.

It wouldn't happen to Fran. She would not turn into another selfish product of the Wood. She had to leave, she had to escape. And even by some twisted dimension she discovered that she herself might be selfish for doing so. But she had to she _must._

Lost in her thoughts, she discovered that her suit had been fully opened with Amyre heavily gripping breasts with one hand while caressing her nether regions with the other. A disgusting tongue wriggling along her neck.

Fran—with the pain of nearly two decades of pain—thrust Amyre away from her. Saying nothing as she left the grounds and returned to her Hollow.

Jote was away, and Mjrn was napping. Fran merely grabbed her mother's armor.

Kissed her little sister while she slept.

Left a note saying nothing to her sisters but words of love and farewell.

And left.

**ATmac05: Review please. Comments of all kinds greatly appreciated. And I didn't spell check outside of that good old F7 key so whatever typos are there I apologize. Sorry for the long wait….**


	7. The Leading Man

**ATmac05: Hey everybody. As always, I appreciate the warm reviews (even though I'm undeserving due to my tardiness as far as updating). But I'm glad you're still reading, and still finding things to enjoy. And hopefully I won't disappoint. You guys will like this chapter. You'll also notice the absence of an Intricacy excerpt, well—Fran's no longer a follower of it, so doesn't really seem feasible to keep coming up with them, huh? Oh—I'm pretty sure most people reading this have long finished the game by now—but if not, there is a spoiler concerning Balthier's lineage. **

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* * *

**_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Seven**_

_**The Leading Man: Tomfoolery, Shenanigans, and Escapades**_

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* * *

  
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He was better than this. She was beautiful of course—exquisitely so, in fact. Despite the clouded suns that accompanied Archadia's skies, she had still managed to acquire a subtle tan. A tan that melded perfectly with her sandy brown hair, and it danced along her bare skin as his fingers did. Her skin was unnaturally soft, feeling almost like fleshy silk in his fingertips. And equally silky were her moans that were barely audible through tightened lips as he gyrated inside of her.

Yet her beauty seemed to overpower her dignity, because though she was physically evidential of the sun, she was as free as the wind. As free as the skirt that had quickly been pulled up her loins, and as free as the appendage that relished her bacchanalian nether regions. And it was through this lack of dignity coupled with Ffamran's teenage lust, that the young male found himself hidden within her and away from the world in a dark alley in a poorer region of Archades. She was sitting atop a barrel of ale, and he was standing. She was moaning whispers, and he was silent. She was motionless, and he was doing all the work. She was lost in dizzying ecstasy. He was getting bored.

She reached her zenith, and he—well…

He was better than this.

* * *

Ffamran mied Bunansa had not arrived home until early the next morning. The girl he was with—her name escaping him—was needy. She was of a lesser element, (as his father pompously deemed citizens of Archades who were not so economically blessed) and was much too stricken with the joy of fraternization with Imperial Nobility to let Ffamran leave without another hour of pointless conversation. And though Ffamran debated often whether or not he had a soul, he surely had enough heart to humor the girl for a time. It was the least he could for her—despite her miniscule compensation. Nevertheless, coming home to his towering mansion just adjacent to the Draklor Laboratories so early in the morning was not a first for him. This fact alone being the source of his shock when he found his mother sitting anxiously on a long plush sofa as he entered through the door.

She was tall, pale-faced from heavy face powder, and dressed in a sinfully glamorous teal nightgown drowning in bows and embroidery. Her blonde hair was wrapped in an equally gaudy head gown. And her sickening opulence seemed to match the pained expression about her face. Ffamran was under the impression that she was daring to _scold _him.

"Where were you?" She asked in a voice with feigned sternness. "Do you know what time it is?"

"I'd be more than happy to answer if you provided a clock." Ffamran answered, scratching his neck in an aloof disregard of his mother's retorts.

"Ffamran do not talk to me in such a way. I _am_ your mother!"

"Agreed—now about this time situation—"

"Ffamran!" She squeaked, her voice was light with the laziness that affluence brings.

Again, his whole "heart" complex was beginning to kick in once again. Obedience was feasible if it could afford this pitiful woman some cause to believe that she's actually being a good mother. "I apologize." He said as sincerely as he could muster. "I was about town with a few friends, we lost track of time, I'm afraid."

Her eyes softened, though they could never really harden. "Ffamran, this is growing tiresome. Your father and I have put up with your disregard of our rules for quite some time now. But you are seventeen now, a man, and I think that it is time that you learned some accountability. You will never be anything in life unless you start taking on the responsibilities of an adult."

The heart was beginning to fail. "My sincerest apologies mother, I'll have to start wearing frills and neglecting my children more often then. You know, like true adults such as you and dear ol' daddy…" He failed to hear what she said after that, for his mind had already decided to stop listening. Ffamran could possibly remember a sullen expression on her face, that is—if he hadn't decided to head up towards his room.

* * *

The notion of his mother deeming anything "tiresome" was baffling for Ffamran. She, like most pristine female nobility, had all but relinquished any personal independence she had retained to her husband. She wasted away in this bronze manor. She spent her days entertaining guests with pretentious banquets and empty courtesies, and sold her own time for quaint hobbies like knitting and painting. Alvaria mied Bunansa had become a trite shell of what a real woman should be, and this agitated Ffamran relentlessly. What would she know about anything being _tiresome_? Would her endless siphoning of a fortune that she had done nothing to amass be considered _tiresome_?Or perhaps what was _tiresome_ were her lifeless activities brought upon by directionless wealth? And now, seeing that Ffamran was coming of age and seemingly had no interest in perpetuating this worthless decadence—she was considering him _tiresome_. It pained Ffamran to think himself lamenting like the stereotypical teenager, nevertheless, there was the valid point.

_You never cared about me before, why care now? _

Ffamran treasured riches, and loved wealth. He liked having his shoulder length brown hair impeccably styled, or his vests crafted from the finest suede. He liked his iron cleaves, or his cotton shirts from only the finest textile factories in Rozaria, his defined jaw well shaven, his sideburns masterfully trimmed, his weekly shooting practices with some of his attendants. Wealth had made him considerably handsome, and even more powerful. He never once thought that he would prefer to live his life poor.

But ever since he was a child, he always had an obsession with working towards his riches. As an adolescent his parents often gave him whatever monies they felt necessary for his daily proceedings, so the concept of _earning_ anything was abstract to him. Its illumination only came when one day, alone, he had helped a poor woodsman carry some oak trimmings to his modest home. The man—unaware of whom Ffamran was—gave the child one coin of gil for his efforts.

Ffamran made the simple connection that most children surmise from being rewarded. If he worked, he could get money. It excited him, entranced him.

Bewildered him.

Ffamran now had to spend his remaining childhood wondering why so many around him had to work for his earnings. His mother never seemed to work, he didn't see his father enough to figure out if he worked or not, and Ffamran himself most surely never worked. Yet they always had gil. They always ate the finest food, bought the finest clothing, paid for the services done for them. Ffamran wondered childishly, _why do we have so much gil when others don't?_

And of course, the painful answer would come as he grew. He would discover his father's lineage that allowed him to obtain an extensive background in academia, and the subsequent high position as a scientist in the Imperial Draklor Laboratories. Ffamran would discover his mother the 18th generation in the family that was cousin to House Solidor itself. He would discover that with this bloodline he would be afforded more opportunities and gil than many other children in Archades. And he would discover how sick this made him feel in the pit of his stomach.

He questioned his ownership of a soul, but he knew he had a heart. And that heart wanted to give as much gil he could afford to every citizen in Archades who knew what it really meant to work for their lives. Ffamran longed to be like Esquire Balthier, the great explorer who discovered the Valendia Continent. He was a vastly wealthy explorer who pilfered every ruin and temple for treasure, but upon discovering the continent and seeing many of the poor indigenous people, invested much of his wealth into their villages. His efforts had allowed for the erection of trading posts and ports, which flourished and allowed Archadia to become the wealthy region it was today. An act of kindness, a bit of adventure, and a lot of wealth had transformed a world.

That's what Ffamran wanted to be, one who changed the world. He wanted to be the next Balthier.

* * *

Dusk greeted the next Balthier as he awoke from his grand bed. The bright light of sunset shimmered through his tall windows and seemed to harass his pupils as he moaned in discomfort. Going to sleep in the early morning was starting to happen often, and his body was beginning to feel groggy as a result of the forming habit. However, the nightlife was something with which he easily coalesced, and with a working father and a negligent mother there remained few hindrances to stop him.

When Ffamran had finally worked up the energy to tear himself away from his sheets his room was flooded with the sound of an echoing knock at his door. A grumbling permission greeted a short pudgy maid into his bed chambers. In her hands were a few glass vials of bluish liquids and some brushes. Her name was Miraindia, and she was one of the few nurses that Ffamran found mildly tolerable.

"Sir Bunansa," she beckoned quietly. "There is a young lad waiting downstairs for you."

Ffamran begrudgingly sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes with long fingers. "This _lad_ has a name I presume." His softer tone allowed the comment to come out less sharply then his usual cynicism.

"Master Jules, sire. You seem to be very fond of him sir, so I asked that he wait in the foyer while you get dressed." Miraindia knew what she was doing. Jules and Ffamran had been spending the last few weekends together. Jules was much less aristocratic than Ffamran, so therefore knew of the liveliest taverns and most voluptuous girls. He was the rugged and untamed commoner to Ffamran's suave and witty noblesse. Together the two made an unstoppable duo, (much to the dismay of Ffamran's mother).

It was then that Ffamran noticed that the vials in Miraindia's hands were full of soap. She was urging him towards the water basin, her hands primed and at the ready. He sighed—another aspect of Imperial life that he disdained.

* * *

The passing of an hour revealed a clothed Ffamran in garments worthy of Esquire Balthier himself. He had greased his hair, tying the remainder with a small band to create a loose ponytail that hovered just below the nape of his neck. Adorning his torso was a hip-length cream tunic that was covered by a burgundy vest. His family's signet had been elaborately sewn all over the vest with the same cream colored stitching. A brown belt bound the vest securely to his waist, and the same color brown tinted the pants that clung to his legs. The favorite part of his ensemble—where his upbringing began to rear its ugly head—were the golden greaves that slithered up his boots and to his knees. And like most nobility, Ffamran would not dare leave the house without jewelry. On the middle fingers of his left and right hands were gold rings with sapphire and ruby jewels respectably. A silver pinky ring on his left hand, and a few necklaces lined his chest as well. Small hoops pierced the tops and bottoms of both his ears. Ffamran truly disdained undeserved riches, but his appearance was the one arena that he would never allow to suffer because of it.

Jules was dressed lower class as usual. His tunic was white and muddied, and his pants housed small scuffs on all sides. His black leather boots had no shine to them whatsoever, and his unruly black hair scampered all around his face as he moved. Ffamran watched with amusement as his mother seemed to quiver at the sight of Jules sitting on her couch in his battered attire.

"Ah! Dere 'e is!" Jules bellowed as he watched his friend descend the marble staircase. "Dressed fit for a king, as usual!" Jules had a very hearty voice for his age, he was actually a year younger them Ffamran. Jules stood and took his friend's hand. It was not so much a handshake as it was Jules slapping his hand into Ffamran's, who himself was gradually getting used to the informal gesture.

"Ffamran, a word." His mother asked in an odd way that took the emphasis off both syllables of his name. He held his tongue and followed her down a brief hallway into their kitchen, that was no less opulent than the rest of the home. "What exactly," she began sharply, "are you looking for? What could you possibly hope to gain from dallying about with that—that—street urchin!"

"Hmm, I don't know mother. I've failed to resolve my agenda for my street urchin intentions."

"Ffamran! I've no time for your quips today!"

"Of course, because you seem _quite_ busy. You probably have more laces to tie."

His mother opened her mouth and then closed it as if to halt something she was going to say. Her mouth was pouted in frustration, and she looked to both her sides and moved in closer to him before speaking once again. "Ffamran, I do not know why you detest me so. I merely want to have a discussion with you."

The blasted heart again. "Mother of all the things I'd waste hate on, you're most surely not one of them. And this is not a discussion; this is you trying to force your bigotries on me. You never seemed apt for discussion with me before, why be so interested now?"

"Ffamran I've always—"

"Save it mother. I believe 'twas you that told me to never leave guests waiting for too long, correct? I wouldn't want to be impolite."

"Ffamran what would your father think if he saw you gallivanting with that boy? With everything your father has worked for, with all the respect that he has gained for the Bunansa family, do you really want to dishonor that by hanging around with mere commoners?"

The teenager had begun to walk away when his mother said that, and he stopped once the comment grazed his ears. "I daresay that Dr. Cidolfus won't be able to tear himself away from his work long enough to care about what I'm doing. And frankly mother, you could always just forbid me to go. 'Tis your maternal right. I'm your child, you have free reign over what I do and don't do. So if you have such strong reservations about what I'm doing, tell me I can't do it."

Ffamran turned to face his mother. He met her gaze with a fiery expression that dared her to finally be the woman that he wanted her to be. For so long she tried to run their household based off of what was best for the family name, or even his father. Never once did she espouse a shred of personal conviction, or independent thought. So he dared her. Ffamran saw the tearful look in his mother's eyes. She stared back at him, and for a few cold moments nothing was said. Finally she averted her eyes and put her face to her hands. The sobs of defeat crept through her palms as she wept.

_Tis what I thought._ Ffamran said as he returned to the foyer, possibly more hurt than his mother could have ever been.

"We off?" Jules asked when he saw Ffamran return.

"Most certainly. I'll tell Durman to bring the streetcar around."

"Ah, good. I was running a bit low on chops today—you know information's my currency of choice, but unfortunately it doesn't pay for transportation."

Ffamran laughed, "well that is why you get rich friends." He laughed again. "By the way, I was wondering. How do you feel about me having a nickname?"

"Seems like your surname would benefit you the most graces. But what? If I humored, you?"

"Balthier."

"Like the explorer? Hmmm….seems a bit theatrical if you ask me."

"Well I don't know, I always find myself the leading man, anyway."

* * *

Where Jules and Ffamran perhaps made their connection was in their shared love for wealth. Ffamran felt that ideally wealth should be a trophy for adventure, hard work, and a soft heart. Jules, on the contrary side of things, was not blessed to have been immersed in a sea of gil for the majority of his childhood. That being the case, he perceived money through eyes of practicality rather than fantasy. He could care less whether or not those suffering around him gained money. His chief concern was accumulating wealth for himself. And being raised in the slums of Lowtown Archades never taught him to work hard and progressively earn his money. No, he was taught to trick and gamble his purse full. He had come to learn that a little inside information and luck could take a child a long way, and that is why he was taking Ffamran to a tavern deep on the outskirts of Lowtown.

"There's a Bangaa who came into town last night. Shoddy fellow, 'bout as surly as those walking snakes can get." Jules said quietly to Ffamran in the back seat of the vehicle. He had a mischievous glint in his eye that the noble had come to know well. "Now word on the street's that he's actually a bounty hunter, a very famous one from down south."

"What's the point? Plenty of bounty hunters scamper up to dear old Archades where 'immunity is free and prison's pardons are for all.' No doubt he's trying to avoid some of those desert hick authorities." Ffamran was ever the skeptic.

"Ah, but Mr. _Balthier_," Jules made careful effort to emphasize the word as if he was doing Ffamran a favor by utilizing it. "This is no or'nary mercenary. He's quite wealthy, _quite_, I hear. Assassinates opponents of rival factions from Rozaria to Dalmasca—and then spends his earnings very daringly at trading spots like Nalbina. I hear he's got an entire caravan with him packed with nothing but gil and wares."

Ffamran scoffed once again. Archadian politicians loved to hire goons to do their dirty work. No doubt this Bangaa would fit in just fine in the Imperial City. Of course, the matter still remained concerning Jules' interest in the creature.

Jules read the inquiry on Ffamran's face. "Now, even greater words from the street tell me that this Bangaa—Alvardi's the name—is a gambler. They say—"

"May I ask who this _they_ is you keep referring to?" Ffamran questioned indignantly.

"Why the winds of rumor, my dear sir. You've been running around with me long enough to know that my sources are near and far. Subtle and conspicuous—"

"Mundane and superfluous…"

"Oh keep spouting your high-end words if you desire. But those words are what make you who you are. And so I'm letting the words that travel through the veins of poverty and intrigue guide me to my own 'high-ends.' And right now they're guiding me to a rich hunter who has a fat pocket and loves a challenge. And I'm here to oblige."

_And he called me theatrical_, thought Ffamran"So you're going to out gamble a mercenary? That's your plan? Not to hurdle pessimism into your little bubble of delirium, but what makes you think that you'll be able to win in whatever games this Alvardi is playing?"

"Oh I've got trump cards…some nice ones at that."

* * *

"Meet Jewel and Pegeri!" Jules announced with a flourish as Ffamran and he arrived at the tavern. The objects in question were, of course, two beautiful girls. The one named Jewel was a tall girl, which was Jules' preference seeing that he was considerably tall. She was eerily blonde, with a rosy flush that rested comfortably on her cheeks. She housed sky-colored crystalline irises that Ffamran found himself entranced by. But of course, he wasn't one to admire stereotypical beauty, it didn't fit the persona he was trying to amass for himself. The woman he found himself attracted to (and 'woman' being appropriate as she looked more mature than her counterpart), was the caramel colored Pegeri. He seldom got the chance to see the darker colored women that usually lived in the deeper regions of Rozaria. Her eyes were of a rich deep brown and her hair was a coarse onyx color that was just as long as Jewels, but still different in its texture and form. There was something that Ffamran found intrinsically tantalizing about these exotic women. And he would have loved to touch their velvety skin, immerse himself in their robust bosoms, and perhaps—if he were ever so lucky—delight in their vivid….

"Mate!" Bellowed Jules. "I know dey fed you manners on those silver spoons, introduce yourself to dese lovely ladies!"

Ffamran had apparently missed these two girls' introductions in his fantasizing. He started to speak in an uncharacteristic stammer before his dignity returned him his eloquence.

"Sorry," he began. "Just swept up in the beauty of you two." Pegeri laughed, Jewel smirked. But Ffamran knew who the compliment was for, and was pleased that it worked. "The name's Ffamran mied Bunansa of the Bunansa family. But—I want you ladies to be able to say my name as easily as possible. So you may call me, Balthier."

"And why must we be able to say your name so easily, dear _Balthier_." Pegeri asked in a smooth luscious tone that Ffamran couldn't have hoped to pray for.

"Up to you to decide why. But women seem to prefer that my name _rolls_ off their tongues, tends to be very useful for them." He spoke directly to Pegeri, whose eyes affirmed her understanding.

"Alrigh', alrigh', 'nough of dat." Jules said. "Seems Balthier 'ere 'as made 'is choice. Let's get on in this tavern."

* * *

The inside of the tavern was bustling with the type of activity that one might expect from a bar. The inside was dimly lit, with scantily-clad waitresses roaming to and fro with platters of foaming drinks. The place was uncomfortably crowded, which was a feat considering that the tavern was two floors. The lower floor was filled with the type of people that fit their position. The men were burly, hairy, and cursing in all types of accents. The woman tended to be daintier, but still somehow managed to be just as loud if not louder. There were several types of other species as well, each of them bringing their own distinct scent that seemed to meld into the musty aroma that invaded the entire area. Ffamran could have vomited upon entry.

The upper floor was a balcony that was visible from the ground floor. It was still crowded, but the tables were actually covered with cloth as opposed to the water stained wood tables (and sometimes crates) that littered the bottom floor. The denizens occupying the upper floor seemed to be dressed in less-tattered clothing, and the waitresses seemed a bit prettier as well. They all seemed to be engaged in different types of games and discussions, and not just blatant tomfoolery as with the lesser level. Ffamran could make out, just in the center of the balcony, a Bangaa that was surrounded by people. He, himself was being fawned over by Hume women, several of which who wore no tops at all. The Bangaa was a deep rouge color from what Ffamran could see, and he wore heavy gold chains all around his neck. He seemed to be playing a card game with a rather obese gentleman across the table from him.

"That him?" The noble calling himself Balthier, asked.

"Aye, that be him." Jules said anxiously. "He 'as the smell of money on 'im. The stench 'its me all the way down here. Come on, Jewel, we've got work to do."

The rosy-cheeked woman followed her director quickly when prompted.

Ffamran reached a hand outward. "Wait, Jules! What am I supposed to do?"

"Relax lad. Enjoy the place. That's why Pegeri's here." His friend smirked and walked ahead, Jewel feverishly following close behind.

Ffamran was left a bit stupefied by the abrupt abandonment, but soon realized he might not have wanted to be involved with whatever Jules was planning anyway. He turned his attention back to Pegeri, who he suddenly noticed was wearing a short plum colored dress that had the look of a corset. Her breasts forming a perfect amount of cleavage accentuated by frills and ribbons that lined the top of the outfit. Ffamran found himself enthralled by childish fantasies once again.

But Pegeri's attention was not quite so focused on him; her eyes instead had followed Jewel and Jules up to the balcony.

"I pity her." The candy-skinned woman said solemnly. "She's really quite fond of that boy. Tis a shame that she's found herself enamored with his escapades."

Ffmaran grabbed her hand and had her follow him to an empty chair nestled against the wall. He sat down, and then motioned for her to sit on his lap. She obliged, rather casually in fact.

"Well Jules can be a very captivating, man." Ffamran replied. "Not often that one finds ambition in one so young."

Pegeri laughed. "Ah, and you speak as if you are centuries ahead of him."

"Well, he is younger than me by a year."

"The perhaps it is _you_, that should be leading him onward into taverns. Or maybe you should have an aimless girl following on your every word."

Ffamran's mind lingered on her comment for a bit. Living vicariously, that's all he was doing. There was much he didn't understand of lower class society, and this world seemed so much more real than the diamond cloud of his tax bracket. If Jules would be his avenue of understanding, albeit a younger one, so be it.

"Your point exceeds you, Pegeri." Ffamran replied with a smoothness that he was trying to portray to hopefully match hers. "But in fairness, you're here as well. Do you not defy your own motives of maturation by coming?"

She smiled, elegantly white teeth shone through the room. "I'm but nineteen, I still allow myself teenage fun. Jewel's family adopted me a long time ago, and I see her as a little sister. And as such, I feel it is my duty to watch out for her. Though unfortunately, she doesn't respect me enough to heed my warnings. So instead of telling her not to come here, I just must follow her and do my best to protect her."

"Is she always in some kind a trouble?"

"Not always, but she has a big heart for all who seem to relay the same feelings of love back to her. I find myself looking after her mainly when it comes to your gender. You see, 'Jewel' isn't even her real name. It's Odysescia. But one day your friend called her by that little nickname, and she's been using it as a little pseudonym ever since. A bit like _Balthier_…wouldn't you say?"

"Yes I would. But remember, it rolls off the tongue."

"Well, dear explorer, show me how well it will make my tongue roll." And with that, Pegeri embraced his lips with her succulent ones. And something about the taste of her lips made the younger boy twitch. And he wasn't stupid, never too lost in lust to be unaware of his feelings and motivations. He knew exactly what it was that made this kiss different. Never had he gotten the joy of feeling a woman's heart before her body. Several of the other women before this one had laughed with a childish airiness when he gave them a compliment, and their dressings nearly flew off when he flashed a few coins of gil across their eyes. Yet, if posed with a question that daresay required a thought process, they would freeze, and they would stare. Hell, even his mother relented when faced with the mental ferocity that was her son. But not this woman. Within minutes of talking to her she had questioned his motives, defined her own love for another, and still managed to maintain the illustrious femininity that aroused him.

This was merely a kiss, but he wanted it to last forever. And perhaps it would be his tongue rolling amidst her name as she explored the inside of his mouth. She was two years older than him, and maybe this added to her skill. But the heat in his veins had centralized to that oh-so-important place, and it was causing Ffarman to become anxious. His fingers began traveling along her back, deciphering her muscles, exploring her limbs. And his excitement jumped circles when his large hands managed to graze her underside that rested in his lap. There was a previously unknown plumpness residing there that he would remember into his adulthood, and as he gripped, she moaned. And he sweated.

And he felt like he had found his soul.

But suddenly, he heard whispers.

_Isn't that Dr. Cid's son?_

_You lie._

_No, I've seen him before. Carousing with a southern woman I see._

_Perhaps she's after his money._

_Look's like that's not all she's after._

_See how the rich leisure about while we suffer? I need another drink. *hic*_

_Pitiful shame. I bet he's never had to work that hard for a whore in his life._

_Nor work at all._

_These damn nobles! You'd think they'd be content in the city, but then they come to Lowtown and start demolishing what little homes we have left. _

_Don't give any kind of payment._

_Just threaten us if we don't abide._

_Hmph, building sewage tunnels, as if Lowtown doesn't have to already put up with their filth._

_They take our women._

_They take our taverns._

_They take our property._

_But they can't stand us._

_Not at all. _

_Cretins_. Ffamran thought, and for the brief moment when he thought he was actually a part of something, bitter individuals had to destroy his rose-colored lenses. They had no right to chastise him. They didn't know how often he wanted to help them. They didn't…

"You lying, cheating, bastard!" A loud snarl from above broke Ffamran's mental and physical distractions. Following the voice he (of course) saw the red Bangaa standing erect with a pointed claw at Jules, who sat across from him. "Your whore has been keeping cards under her garments the entire time! You think me a fool to fall for you tricks?"

The entire crowd exploded in an uproar as Alvardi grabbed the table separating him and the teen and launched it across the balcony. Everyone cleared out of the way as it smashed into the lower level. A frail looking drunk was unfortunately the recipient of the table's gravity.

Attention back on Alvardi, the blood red Bangaa had grabbed Jules by the neck and began punching him manically with his free hand. The rough scales on the Bangaa's claws tore through Jules' shirt before finally piercing his stomach. Blood began to drizzle out more and more with each additional strike. Finally, when Ffamran finally had made up his mind to run and help his friend, the Bangaa scratched his claws across the juvenile's face one last time before tossing him over the side of the banister with equal ferocity.

Ffamran did his best to return to his friend, but Jules hit the floor while Ffamran was midway up the steps.

"Someone alert the Knights!" A loud voice called. Alvardi paid no attention to it, focusing instead on Jewel, the cohort in Jules failed plot.

"So you think that you can play me, Hume?" The Bangaa asked while wrapping his claws around her neck in the same manner. "I'll tear you limb from limb and then lunge you like I did your boyfriend there!"

"You leave her be!" Pegeri had reached the top of the stairs. Just as soon as she had finished her statement she was quickly grabbed by two Seeq that apparently worked for the Bangaa.

"Stay out of this." Alvardi responded. "No offense to you but I can't have worthless Humes trying to tear me away from my fortune!" Alvardi reared back his clothes. He was just instants away from clawing through Jewel until his was pummeled by the full girth of Ffamran. The teen had managed to get past the Seeq due to their preoccupation with Pegeri. The two pigs immediately shot their heads towards Alvard, seeing her chance, Pegeri jabbed both her elbows into the Seeqs' eyes. The shock of the pain was enough to send the Seeqs spiraling don the stairs in bewilderedment. Their massive girth colliding against one another was more than enough to render then unconscious by the end of the stairs.

Ffamran and Alvardi had been locked in a heated wrestling match. The Bangaa desperately clawed at the teenager, who had pinned him down. Ffamran appeared to be winning; he sat atop the Bangaa while relentlessly throwing punches.

Just then Alvardi managed to catch one of the teen's punches, and turned the grip in such a direction that Ffamran screamed in agony. The Bangaa suddenly shot up, kicking Ffamran in the back so hard that the force knocked him against the banister. Alvardi then stood, laughing as he gazed at the tired boy resting at the railing. "You must've been in on it too I suppose. Never seen such a good friend." Between Ffamran's and Alvardi's fighting Pegeri had managed to grab a large steel bar and pelted it at Alvardi, who quickly caught it and returned it, knocking Pegeri against the wall as well.

"Foolish wench, and now." He turned back towards Ffamran. "You'll die next!" Thankfully Alvardi never got to finish his act, for as soon as he muttered those final words Alvardi dropped to the floor in front of Ffamran's body.

Ffamran felt a strange relief as he saw that the body had been pierced an arrow.

* * *

**ATmac06: Alright well I hope you all liked Balthier's debut. If you didn't like anything at all PLEASE don't hesitate to let me know. And I didn't spell check, cause I'm lazy. So hopefully there aren't too many distracting errors....if it's gets bad just lemme know and I'll stop being lazy...**


	8. The Noblesse and the Hare

**ATmac05: Hey, okay so I know this update was a LONG time coming but it was really a combination of writer's block, school, and just overall slacker-ocity. But here it is, hope you enjoy it. I didn't feel like proofreading, but I reread the last couple of paragraphs each time I write more so it shouldn't be too bad. Please don't hesitate to review even if you have already! I really look forward to feedback!**

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* * *

**_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Eight**_

_**The Noblesse and the Hare: Revitalizing Mist **_

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* * *

  
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The appropriateness of describing Alvardi's scales as _blood red_ had increased since the miraculous arrow had pierced his back. The comatose Bangaa lay sprawled on the floor, the rosy water of his veins now pooling around him. At his head, a shocked Ffamran panted heavily from an unwelcome mixture of fear and relief. The anxious teen slowly gripped the banister behind for support, and with equal speed made his way to his feet. When successful, he gazed at his savior.

And it seemed that he had become a magnet for chocolate colored females.

But of course, the woman standing before him was not deeply Rozzarian as Pergeri was. Long, and erect ears poised at the top of her head proved otherwise. She was viera. Beautifully so. The thicket of silvery ivory that cascaded from her skull to the tip of her waist told him so. The long elegant copper limbs that were generously displayed told him so. The fierce gaze of her dark eyes told him so. And the enchanting (deemed so only because their exposure was something out of fantasy) buxomness of her breasts told him so.

Ffamran shuddered to think that this was perhaps the most wonderful creature that he had ever laid his eyes upon.

Clad in dispersed black armor, the viera looked around as if she had _accidentally _walked into the prior chaos. She scanned her eyes over the entire setting; the empty tavern now riddled with broken furnishings and glass, the two Hume girls climbing to their feet, and the other Hume boy who had blacked out from being tossed from the second story. Finally, after her intimate assessment of her surroundings, she returned her attention to the Hume standing in front of her. He gazed at her as if she was on fire—which was nothing she was unaccustomed to. A small tinge of pain suddenly gripped her head, and she did a rather regal scowl before uttering:

"The lack of Mist in this place is disgusting." She massaged her right temple with two of her fingers before addressing Ffamran directly. "And the level of Mist emanating from you is just as scarce." She paused with revelation. "You're young."

The statement suddenly reminded Ffamran of the façade that he was constantly amassing, and he straightened his back quickly. "I'm not _that_ young," he said, and silently cursed himself after realizing that was perhaps one of the most childish things he's ever said in his life.

Fran ignored him, and instead walked over to Pegeri, who had managed to stand but was bleeding from a gash in her shoulder. She widened her eyes as Fran reached out to touch the wound, and tensed when cold fingers made contact—but soon relaxed. A hue of green light had flowed from the viera's hand, and a soothing feeling accompanied it. After a moment, the blood stopped flowing, and when Fran removed her hand Pegeri could see that her gash had healed as well. A Magick, no doubt.

"Thank you." Pegeri said in a whisper. Fran nodded and moved down the nearby steps towards Jewel and Jules.

Pegeri returned to Balthier, and hurriedly checked him for any damage. Seeing that he was okay, she asked, "Do you know that viera?"

Ffamran shook his head. "No—I've never even seen a viera in person before. The farthest they usually venture from whatever they live is Dalmasca, I heard. Something about them being unable to take the murky climate. Seems she has decided to grace us with her presence, however."

"And with her help as well."

On the ground floor, Jewels had grabbed her deadened idol and was holding him to her chest. She was sobbing severely, and strangely enough—Fran thought—seemingly for the male. It was only so peculiar because Jewel had an equally large amount of scrapes and bruises, but cried for Jules as if she was numb to her own wounds. Fran later rebuked herself for the judgment however; the love of Humes was something strange and powerful, and she had encountered enough of it over the past decade and a half to understand at least a partial amount of its motivations.

Fran halted when she reached the teens, and was met with a fearful stare from the sniveling blonde. "The Mist surrounding his body is thin, but plentiful." Fran said calmly, although she knew the girl would not understand what she meant. In other words, "he will be fine." The viera couldn't help but notice the huge gashes that permeated the young male's stomach, so she took the effort to heal them as well. (She had a brief battle of stares with Jewel, who seemed reluctant to tear herself away from her lover.)

When Fran felt that the two jewels had been adequately attended to she turned towards the door and began to make her exit. She was, of course, stopped by a beckoning Ffamran. Fran made a cold pause before spinning around to address him.

"Yes?" She asked with an irritating lisp resting on the end of the word. She had yet to perfect the pronunciation of their harsh language even after years of speaking it constantly.

Balthier merely stared at her for a moment, Pergeri stood next to him.

Fran sighed. "You asked me to 'wait.' Perhaps it's fitting for you to tell me why." Sarcasm was easy in any language, however.

"Well, I merely surmised that you might want some type of reward for your services." He replied with all attempts to maintain his composure even though he still had aftershocks of anxiety pumping through him.

The Viera were a race whose expression centered mostly within their eyes. Therefore Fran could not effectively twist her mouth in disgust at the Hume's labeling of her aide as "services." She did, however, let her eyes grimace for her as they appraised the teen. Fran immediately took notice of the Hume's untainted complexion, intricate clothing, and thick money purse hanging by his waist—and the stomach of her eyes lurched as she met with the horrid realization that she had helped one of _those_ types of Humes.

She sharply rolled her eyes before heading back towards the exit.

"I believe you offended her," commented Pergeri. This of course, was not Ffamran's intention. There was just something about that the notion that she would just leave after helping them so prodigiously that bothered him. He wondered if it was really so bizarre that he might perhaps want to speak with her more, learn why she was at the bar, why she helped them, or at least a name. And then again, maybe those should have been his replies to her inquiry—instead of offering a reward like the types of pretentious nobles he was viciously trying to tear himself away from.

He wanted to tell her to wait again, but it seemed that fate decided to do it for him. At the moment she opened the tavern door the distinct shuffling of Imperial armor could be heard, and it wasn't long before a small party of Imperial soldiers entered into the tavern. It would have been nice to judge their countenances upon seeing the diverse party within the disheveled bar, but of course their helmets allowed no such courtesy.

Balthier mentally remarked on their lateness, Jewel's face went blank, Pergeri locked arms with Balthier, Jules remained as comfortably out of submission as possible, and Fran tensed—the amount of Mist from Imperials was _always_ agonizingly low. The aforementioned party all stepped back as the three Imperials entered and began to scope the room.

"What the 'ell 'appened?" One said in a thick accent that was evidence of lower class roots. When no one responded, he turned directly to Ffamran. "You! You wanna explained what went on 'ere?"

An object of authority was talking to Balthier, so he couldn't help but speak from the "insolence" side of his mouth. "Hmm…I scarcely desire to intrude on your refined levels of discernment, but from our bloodied clothes, dirt stained faces, my comatose comrade, and the condition of the tavern I'd said you missed out on a _very_ elaborate tea party."

The guard paused for a moment, almost as if Balthier had spoken another language. _Never_ had anyone retained the nerve to speak to him in such a way after being enlisted, and his insecure memories of being constantly disrespected before becoming an Imperial would not let him take the comment lightly. He pushed Pergeri away from Ffamran before grabbing the boy's tunic and pulling him closer. Ffamran's face didn't budge. "You'll pay for ya' sharp tongue boy!" The brute reared a fist back, but stopped when he felt a hand grabbing his elbow.

It was another Imperial. "Stop you buffoon." His accent clearly identified him as someone with a bit of wealth. "Do you not know who that is?" The other guard's silence was a definitive "no." "That's Ffamran mied Bunansa. His mother is a distant cousin of House Solidor, and his father is Cidolfus mied Bunansa, one of the chief engineers at Draklor Research Laboratories. His father's fortune designed, and paid for the armor you're wearing you dull-witted ass. Let him go now before you get us thrown in prison."

And so Ffamran smirked as the Imperial lowered him to the ground, his privileges had once again given him his way. "My apologies my lord," said the guard, "I should not have asked so stupid a question earlier."

Fran nearly vomited from his insincerity, but she had not known that that Hume was kin to the Bunansa family, this was truly advantageous.

"It's quite alright." Ffamran replied condescendingly. "I can hardly expect every idiot with an insignia to be as abreast of their low position as they should be." (Later in life this comment was something that Balthier would regret sincerely.) "But if you are now interested in doing your _job_ and no longer harassing me," he pointed to the balcony, "the real culprit is up there. I believe you'll find him an easy arrest."

What followed was an event that was paramount to the simultaneous stability of the Archadian upper class, and the eminent destruction of its lower. Ffamran mied Bunansa, a member of the noblesse, had deemed the unconscious Bangaa above him as worthy of imprisonment. (If he was still alive.) Therefore the Imperials did not need to know why an arrow was lodged in his back, or why there was another unconscious Hume on the lower level. They did not need to know what started whatever conflict that had arisen, nor did they need to know how it was resolved. Who the Bangaa was and whether he had relatives to notify was again extraneous. All that mattered was that a benefactor of society had made his decree, and therefore the Imperials followed suit. Later on that night, when the Imperials would discover that his deceased body was unidentifiable, they would throw him into an incinerator. Where all seemingly undignified corpses would go.

* * *

Durman, the servant who had driven Balthier and co. to the tavern had ventured off to a restaurant as he waited for his patron. This was not uncharacteristic, for often times he would drop the young teen off at his destination and never hear from him again until the next morning. So Balthier and he had come to the unspoken agreement that Durman should just be _reachable_ if necessary, and this was made possible by a small radio developed by Ffamran's own father. It had been around three hours after midnight by the time everyone had left the tavern and Ffamran contacted his chauffeur.

When Durman arrived he became unquestionably shaken by his young master's appearance. And he elicited a barrage of apologies in an attempt to secure his job. But Ffamran had a fondness for Durman, and therefore acknowledged that he would make sure it was conveyed that nothing happened due to negligence on Durman's part. And Mrs. Bunansa would understand, for Durman had come back to the mansion many times without Ffamran at all, so coming home with him wounded might perhaps be preferable.

"Durman," he addressed the tall, thin elderly servant. "I need you to take a few of my friends home. Well—that one to a clinic." The distinction was necessary when Durman saw Jules dizzily walking while leaning on Jewel's shoulder. "We fell into a bit of a scuffle."

Durman was too stricken with confusion to say anything beyond obedient affirmatives, and began helping Jules into the streetcar, followed by Jewel, and finally Pergeri.

Fran in the midst of all of this had been characteristically silent, but she had been secretly waiting for Balthier to acknowledge her first. "And where might you be going?" He asked. "Are there any other adolescents that need saving at local taverns?"

Fran would have smiled—but she didn't. "No. I request an audience with your father, if I may."

Ffamran gave a subtle smile. "I'm quite afraid _I _cannot even remember the last time I've seen my father."

Fran's expression remained the same, but her eyes processed the comment in confusion. "Does he not—live with you?" The idea of a family without a father was not alien to her, but she saved the concept from applying to wealthier families.

"Hmm…" Ffamran said with his chin in his hand. "I believe he does. My mother says he does, but with me being an only child I can't believe that he is home _often_. And I can honestly say that I have only seen him twice within the last month or so." His biting sarcasm had flowed into a sorrowful contemplation, which Fran picked up on. "But," he continued, "I can propose you staying at my home tonight, and tomorrow I can have us personally escorted to my father's laboratory."

Fran titled her head to the side. "I can see him, then?"

"I've never actually tried to see him there, myself. But I suppose that if I were to come, the laboratory might not have too many apprehensions with letting me see him. It's _his _permission that I worry about. But we shall try, nonetheless."

Fran nodded her approval of the plan, and afterwards turned towards the streetcar. She had barely taken a step forward when Balthier stopped her again. "Well—may I ask _why_ you need to see him?"

"You may. But I'll tell you in the 'morrow." She hadn't the patience for it now.

"Wait." Fran turned back around with a look that dared the Hume to say something menial. "What is your name?"

She sighed, and supposed it contained some validity. Now how did she say it? It's was so hard to transfigure her name into Hume tongue.

"Fran."

* * *

The ride to the Bunansa estate had been a pleasant one for Fran. After leaving Eruyt she had become accustomed to traveling extremely long distances with only her feet to push her along. And of course these distances required her to battle barrages of monsters, avoid more than a few bandits, as well as contending with the elements. And reaching a town offered no reprieve. Most of the time she had little money to afford rest at an inn, and even walking through the town had become a task since she was constantly met with the stares of curious Humes. Especially the children—children were always the most blatant with their pique. She very vividly remembered a small Nalbinian child screaming, "Mother! Mother! Look at the giant _bunny_!" Fran had been unfamiliar with rabbits when she left the Golmore, and when she finally discovered what the Humes kept comparing her to, she was morbidly offended. A _bunny's _ears were nowhere near as potent as a Viera's. Although they were very cute little creatures.

But now she sat comfortably in the back of a vehicle, with all of the Humes around her with their eyes closed with the pleasantry of sleep. She could rest her legs, and she did not feel pressured to somehow explain her _existence_ to other people. She envied the Moogles, who had for centuries inhabited a particular area of Ivalice, but had become assimilated into society. And if _any_ creatures were similar to rabbits, it was most certainly them. And again—they were very cute little creatures.

So Fran basked in her rest by closing her eyelids, and looked forward to the other comforts she might enjoy at the Bunansa residence. She did not expect much however, dealing with a variety of creatures had taught her to presuppose nothing. The Bunansa home could be very comfortable and relaxing, and had just as much chance of being unwelcoming and dissuading. The Hume, Balthier—as he said his name was, had a sharp wit and an ever sharper tongue. Evidence of coming from a home inebriated with the same amount of cynicism. Hume children with personalities like his seldom came from a well-rounded home. Or at least—not from one that didn't exhibit the same types of behavior.

Balthier himself wasn't sleep, and he was trying very hard to keep his eyes as squinted as possible as he watched the Viera. There was just something mysteriously exhilarating about her. And he found himself interested in her from an odd mixture of childish curiosity and carnal intrigue. The foreignness of her skin which seemed to shimmer naturally, her supple legs, vivacious chest, and even her lengthy digits appealed to the boyish explorer inside of him, and her _overpowering_ femininity was more than stirring his libido. His mind had begun to once again pry into the more lecherous side of his fantasies until he felt a gentle nudge against his shoulder. Using a coy attempt at pretending to be slightly awakened by the motion, he managed to turn his head to the side to see that the sleeping Pergeri had inadvertently leaned against his body. Rationality swarmed back into his conscience, and he recalled how tremendously enthralled he was by Pergeri earlier the same night.

_What's wrong with you, Ffamran? _He thought. _You're supposed to be the suave leading man—yet you're trying to sneak peeks at this alien creature while a girl whom you were just tongue bathing hours ago is sleeping right next to you. Control yourself—acting like some common pervert—or worse, a…_

He felt the tinges of an erection forming when he noticed Fran's chest rise as a result of the sleep she had managed to slip into.

_A deviant. _He cursed himself once again, and began to force himself to sleep with a very intimate round of sheep counting.

* * *

A heavy sleep kept Ffamran from saying good-bye to Jewel and Pergeri as they were dropped off at their home, and he barely stayed awake long enough to hear Durman give his confirmation of Jules' safe arrival to the Imperial Medicinal Clinic. (Which Jules only had the honor of gracing because of Durman using Ffamran's status to allow it.) He also remained awake enough to hear faint whispers of Durman muttering something about returning to the clinic the next morning, but the rest of his slumber was filled with hazy images of a staircase, bed, and a cake that transformed into rubber when one attempted to eat it.

* * *

"Not today, Ffamran!" Was the shrill that awoke Balthier the next morning. He found himself nestled comfortably in his bed, with his mother scrambling her fingers across his sheets to tear them off of him. The blood in her face was clearly stirring, creating an angered hue across her brow and cheeks. "You are tremendously _persistent _in guaranteeing that I end up in some type of asylum!"

A planned retort escaped Balthier as he noticed how unusually unkempt his mother appeared with her unpowdered face, turquoise nightgown, and hair bundled up in Coeurl pelt curlers. "First you leave the sanctity of our home to go out gallivanting with some rat from a slum!" Jules, Ffamran presumed. "_Then _I awake this morning to hear that Durman had to come save you from some sort of bar battle!" She had successfully thrown all of his sheets from the bed, and had moved on to the pillows when Ffamran had still refused to budge.

"And not only _that!_" She hollered as her son's head bumped against the mattress. "You bring home a _guest?_ _A_ _foreign one at that! _And you think that you're going to sleep in this morning while I contend with this strife! Well you're _quite_ disillusioned! Not _today!_" With an admiral amount of theatrics she removed the last of Balthier's pillows that he had been wrestling to keep from her. And he finally sat up on the side of his bed when he realized that ignoring her would not be a definitive means of returning to his beloved mattress.

"This is very unbecoming of you, mother." He said while wiping his eyes. "I sense you are concerned about something?"

She slapped him.

"I repeat, not today. I want an explanation Ffamran!"

He was so overcome with shock that she actually had the nerve to slap him that he almost felt inclined to answer her question directly. "Well—seems to me like you have garnered all needed explanation already."

Alvaria swallowed her impatience. "With whom did you get into a fight with last night?"

"A Bangaa, he attacked Jules after he caught him cheating at a game they were playing."

"So you joined in?"

"—Yes, I thought I should help him since he was my _friend._ I must've forgotten my manners."

"Are you always going to fight others' battles?"

"Are you always going to moralize my decisions?"

She paused. "Ffamran, this is the _final _straw. I cannot have my only son putting himself in danger due to childish whimsies and dishonorable associates. You will one day have to bear the yoke of the Bunansa family line. And since you refuse to follow in your father's footsteps as a royal scientist we must find other ways to ensure that you carry on our honor accordingly. And your actions today have given me some theories as to how I can do this."

"And how might you do it?" He said sarcastically.

"I must confer with your father—but my notions entertain the military." With that, she spun on her heels and headed towards the door. She was in the midst of slamming it when she looked back at him and spat, "by the way, your_ guest _is having tea downstairs. I do not know why you brought her here—hopefully for sensible reasons—but she must leave! I cannot have our reputation tarnished by having our confidantes believing we entertain ugly things."

"I don't see why not, they are very cordial to _you!_" He bellowed as his mother closed the door.

Balthier did not know where in his mother's bag of bigotries she had found a backbone, but he knew it would have been in her best interest to return it if she dared to strike him again. It took everything he had not to call her a curse word. _She _was the one who was disillusioned. No power over _him_ rested in _her _hands. He had stopped regularly attending school because it became monotonous, he came and went as he pleased, he had basically had his way with the daughters of every noble in his mother's inner circle—and she had been unable to stop him them, so she most definitely could not coerce him into joining the military.

Livid, he threw himself off the bed and speedily moved into the washroom. A wide mirror above an elegant white marble countertop met him, and it asked him what his next step was going to be. There were very few things his mother could actually say to unnerve him, and from his own pained expression, he could see that a military threat was one of them. A life in the military would be the absolute most abominable thing that he could ever imagine himself doing. One, it required stern subservience, which was an oxymoron to Balthier's own existence. Two, mass amounts of physical labor (usually the dirty kind) often entailed. And three, the regiment was a disgusting vortex of corruption. One had to be _chosen_ to be enlisted in the military, and therefore it consisted primarily of poverty stricken tyrants who had managed to kiss enough rear-ends to be enlisted. And of course, these individuals had been so devoid of control for so much of their lives that they abused it within their ranks. Then there were the members of the noblesse whose fortune was cascading into bankruptcy, and the only way they could retain any type of honor was to join the military. And then there were….

"Ugh," was the undignified morpheme he could just barely muster when he became lost in the reasons why he absolutely could not join the military.

_But wait_, he began to think. _I'm going to see my father today. Perhaps I could get to him before mother does. _His mother had a tendency to wait until Dr. Cidolfus actually came home before presenting him with any type of proposition. So Balthier would have the upper hand by visiting him first. He grinned brazenly, marveling at his own ingenuity. His mother would _never_ outsmart him.

* * *

A crisp gold tunic, and several articles of jewelry later Ffamran came down the grand staircase into the foyer. Fran had been waiting for him on the sofa, and his eyes lit up when he saw that someone had managed to get her to wear a white sundress with a lacy overlay. The dress swept along her curves as smoothly as a calm river, and the color seemed to shimmer when blended with her long ivory hair. Hair which—Balthier said a prayer of gratitude—wasn't tied back but was left to fall about her shoulders. Whoever had done this would be getting an immediate raise.

A maid walked up to Fran and asked her whether her shoes were comfortable. And Fran nodded whiled motioning to the white stiletto sandals with straps that intersected upward and ceased at her knees.

_Forget the raise—they'll be getting a family insignia._ Balthier thought.

Fran finally caught notice of Ffamran as he reached the last few steps and began to walk towards her. She stood for a reason she couldn't particularly surmise and intended to greet him with her normally emotionless face. But he was beaming so greatly that a smirk found a way to sneak out of her.

"Good morning." Ffamran said with an odd boyish charm. "You never quite struck me as the—casual attire—type."

_Ah._ Fran now discovered why he was smiling, and suddenly wanted to go find a wool robe. "My armor was reasonably damaged and dirty. A maid offered to get it refurbished for me; these were the items she brought me for the time being."

"Oh, well you look lovely, if I may say so."

"You may not. Compliments are something I've learned to exist without."

Ffamran was admittedly struck by her retort. "You don't hold a very pleasant predisposition do you?"

"And why do you suppose this?"

That was again a shocking question. Ffamran assumed that Fran's iciness could be attributed to some innate, well—again—disposition that was evident without the need of an explanation. But he supposed that she couldn't have always been such a glacier.

"I don't know." He replied, a response he was unaccustomed to saying. "A childhood cursed with negligent parents? A fiery romance that burned you to the point of bitterness? A grand dream shattered before your eyes?" He said it with theatrics. He thought he was being clever.

Fran glared at him with a gaze armed with agitation, and after a lengthy awkward pause made her way to the door. Partly angered because of his insensitiveness, and equally angered that her woes were so quintessential that they could be jokingly guessed at by an adolescent. Then again, she supposed she did not reserve the right to become angered by someone's lack of empathy. It was not as if her heart was rolling down her sleeve either.

* * *

The part of Ffamran that was taken with Fran was not so infatuated as to apologize. He had to admit that he did not understand what had suddenly upset her, and due to her own lack of amiability he wasn't necessarily sure that he was wrong. _Women_, he thought, an extra inch on an ear or two would never change them inwardly. So with the customary masculine indifference he followed her to the streetcar that had been pulled up by Durman. She got in on her side, and he entered on his side.

And they were right next to each other when they sat down.

* * *

"You still have yet to tell me why you need to see my father." Balthier said after the car had made its way through a few avenues.

Fran was still angry, but not one for pettiness. She of course must tell him since he was doing the favor for her, and it was his father. "No doubt you've seen the hoards of protestors sprinkled throughout Archades?"

Ffamran felt sheepish at his lack of political awareness. He had no idea what she was talking about. "No—I'm afraid I haven't."

Fran was looking towards the front of the car and hadn't turned. "Well, the majority of them have occurred in Lowtown. Perhaps that is why you haven't come across them. They've been taking place at Draklor stations."

Balthier scoffed. "Well—I'm not surprised. Most certainly my father's dubious activities have often left the populace rattled with frustration. What has he done this time?"

"A mine was recently carved within a few miles of the outskirts of the city. I do not know what your father's intentions are, but the mine is thick with Mist. And I feel that may have something to do with it."

"I'm sorry…Mist?"

Fran shook her head. "Nevermind. That is not the heart of the matter. The Mine is new— therefore there is a lot of excess that must be removed. Therefore they built an underground pipe…"

Balthier felt rude interrupting but he had remained in class long enough to know basic social studies. "Yes I know. They built an underground pipe to channel the waste from the mine to the city's recycling plants. They always do this, what's the concern?"

Fran was growing more impatient. "The pipe was not built efficiently." She would cut to the chase since the boy seemed to have even less patience. "The pipe circuits around some of the same pipes that distribute water from the city's main basins to Lowtown. And recently inhabitants of Lowtown have been getting sick. Humes, Moogles, Bangaa, Seeq, animals, plants life—everything."

Balthier thought to suggest that due to Lowtown's history of poor hygiene that it was not unusual for an epidemic or two to break out. Hence, the large bridge that separated them from the rest of the city. But something told him to refrain from suggesting that. It sounded more and more snobbish and uncaring the longer he mused on it. He tuned back in on Fran, who hadn't paused.

"…so the few scientists that advocate for Lowtown decided to check the water supply. And as one would surmise, it was contaminated with waste particular to newly unearthed mines."

Ffamran's face could not reveal a definitive reaction. A part of him was saddened, but the rest expecting nothing different. "So somehow waste has spilled into the normal water channel to Lowtown…a leak?"

The Viera nodded. Balthier suddenly remembered being told, by a history professor that he had actually managed to get close to, that when Archades was being extended for the wealthier class, architects discovered certain design choices of Lowtown that were unsafe. It had a lower elevation that made it more susceptible to floods. The soil that it was built on was becoming more and more infertile. And as a region itself, it was relatively unguarded. Therefore what is now considered the Imperial City was built with these corrections in mind. This all made Balthier finally think about why separate water channels ran to Lowtown than to the Imperial City.

"Residents of Lowtown now demand that the pipes from the mine be redirected, and that the current water pipes to Lowtown are upgraded. 'T seems that reparations are requested as well. Yet, their cries are falling on deaf ears."

"Unsurprisingly," said Ffamran. "That is certainly an issue that deserves an elegy or too. But that still does not explain where you fit into this equation, Fran."

Hearing her name spoken to her so directly in such a lot time felt surreal. It softened her.

"Something that Humes intuitively lack as opposed to the other species is a true relationship with life. Humes merely exist, and are alive. Their natural gift is their adaptability regardless of their environment. But this flexibility prevents them from ever ascertaining the true essence of Life itself. With Viera, we are adept at sensing this life essence—we refer to it as Mist. The Viera are so closely intertwined with the inner workings of Mist that we feel discomfort when it becomes unbalanced. Sometimes leading to a physical pain."

Balthier listened closely, more so than he thought he would ever listen to another creature.

"I wander across this world unsure of where I am going. But sometimes my connection to Mist allows me to be called to a place where it feels disjointed. Lowtown is one of those places. The people there are sick and downtrodden. The earth is dying. The Mist is fading away, and it brings such despair to my heart that I decided that I must do something about it."

"So you figured you could address the source of this problem?"

"Yes." Fran's silvery presence seemed even more prominent. Something about her was glowing. "Decontaminating their water will be a minute step in revitalizing them. But perhaps if one of their hopes is met, that hope will reverberate into a spirit that will allow Lowtown to replenish itself. And regenerate its Mist."

Balthier leaning forward and gripped his knees. A smirk crawled across his face. "That's very formidable optimism." He replied." I can only pray that it works, and I don't find myself praying often. Yet, perchance it is no coincidence that you managed to run into me—maybe fate sometimes plays a role in life's drama. You are a character, Fran. You can best one of the world's most elusive mercenaries, and heal wounds. You manage to find the one person you need to chance at an audience with one of the most influential men of the city. And to top it off," he laughed, "your motives are purely philanthropic. I don't think I've ever met any creature as unselfish as you."

The sentiment touched Fran in a place that had long been hardened. She had not had such an intimate conversation with a Hume for a long time. And it made her think back to her willingness to help Yimenari, and the love she had held for her husband. It made her think of Relj, and wonder if she was okay. It made her want to believe that there was really a Wood watching over Mjrn. And it made her hope that Jote had gotten all the success she had ever worked for.

So she sat with a soft humility in her tender white sundress, and she looked at this Hume who suddenly seemed so much older than he had let on. His praising of her motives triggered a desire to know his. Who was this young Hume who fought for his friends in a bar? Who was taking her to meet Cidolfus mied Bunansa? He was looking at her intently, smiling, and his smile made her think of all the happiness she had forgotten.

Had it really been that long that since she had seen someone smile?

The Mist within her seemed to open floodgates as her veins were suddenly filled with blood she had thought she lost. She felt warmer, she felt more alive, and memories of her joyful days plunged into her skull.

And she thought of Wern.

A profound appreciation overtook her, and she could not formulate the words to say what his small compliment had brought her. So she breathed (as best she could) the words that had already been formulated for such an occasion.

"Thank you."

"Welcome." Balthier said as casually as ever, yet he felt like the most selfish person in the world at that moment. He must surely had not come to see his father to revitalize a people.

The vehicle suddenly stopped, and an ominous breeze entered the car window when Ffamran heard Durman cry,

"Draklor Laboratories."

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**ATmac05: Okay so please review! Even though I take so long with these updates. But okay I graduated high school now and its summer so there's no excuse for me to not have timely updates! Bear with me and keep reading please!!! lol**


	9. A Diabolical Cog

**ATMac05: Chapter nine! This one is a little shorter than the others I feel like. REVIEW…REVIEW….REVIEW….**

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_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Nine**_

_**Draklor Laboratories: A Diabolical Cog **_

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The Draklor Laboratories reeked of industry. For Fran it took the form of the low levels of Mist that large amounts of machinery usually secreted. It left her with nagging migraines, thankfully though, this one wasn't major. Balthier with his lackluster Hume senses had to settle for the rather _unsettling_ smell of oil and other miscellaneous chemicals.

The laboratory building was huge, and it glistened in the sun due to its building material consisting of heavily refined metal. It was an architectural wonder, and if one didn't know better they would have guessed it to be made of pure gold. Balthier knew however, that the metals were nothing but various reformed combinations of bronze and other sediments. Windows were scarce, though a very extravagant round one could be seen at the very top of the laboratory. Cidolus' office no doubt. Its position at the front of the building made it appear to be sucking up all the light that the sun ever dared to shine on the structure.

The front yard of the laboratory was surprisingly busy for a place known for being agonizingly confidential, and it resembled a construction site more than anything. As soon as Durman let Balthier out of the streetcar he could see several Seeq and Bangaa working on masses of scaffolding that were riddled in separate positions of the front yard. Elsewhere, creatures carried metals, tools, and even wood to other workers that were poised atop huge machines.

The most conspicuous sighting was a large train of onyx-colored armored trucks that slithered along a trail routed for them by the construction workers that led to the back of the building. The front yard and the rear of the building were separated by tall trees so one failed to discover where exactly the centipede of vehicles were going. Admittedly, Balthier didn't care much.

"Would you like me to escort you in, sir?" Durman asked Balthier upon letting Fran out of the car.

"Won't be necessary." Ffamran said stoutly, he began adjusting his sleeves. "I would prefer you remain close by however. For whatever reason."

Dumran smirked. "As you wish sir, I will remain right here if these workers will permit me to do so."

Ffamran nodded his thanks and remarked Fran, she had already begun towards the building.

Few workers stopped what they were doing to notice the viera and the teenager, but those that did weren't at all discrete about it. They were mainly staring at Fran because—as previously stated—most Vieras remained southern. Fran did not necessarily know this fact, but she could only guess it since she had never had such penetrating and lasting looks on her. Some of the looks held more intrigue than a worry of the alien. The majority of the workers knew Ffamran of course. So they stared out of a desire to know why he was at the laboratory, and with the Viera at that.

"I see they don't mind ogling the clientele." Balthier released in the middle of his stride.

"Humes tend to use their eyes to judge what their other senses cannot." Fran replied.

"A criticism?"

"An observation."

The two were side by side at the end of their trek when they finally reached the entrance to the facility. The door seemed even larger once reached, and admittedly more foreboding. Balthier felt a tinge of—nervousness—something that he kept to himself with a well formed expression. He glanced at Fran out of the corner of his eye, who still seemed to maintain her rigid countenance. Balthier mentally noted to make sure that he asked Fran to teach him how to improve his own game face.

The door hadn't opened. Instead, a small speaker in the center of the door vibrated with voice.

"_Can I help you?_" Came a static filled inquiry. Sounded like a woman.

"We would like to enter." Ffamran said into the speaker.

"_On what business?_"

Balthier and Fran looked at each other at the completion of the question. They figured "we wanna talk to the boss" would not be an acceptable validation. A pretty decent lie crept into Balthier's mind. He leaned forward to try it out, but was hindered by slender claws. Fran spoke instead.

"There was a call recently made regarding mineral excavation policy?"

"_Oh you are the technicians? Well please enter, the woman at the front desk will direct you to the proper department."_

The static faded and was followed by the scrapes of shifting metal. The doors split in front of them and retreated into the wall. Balthier smirked.

"I presume I can now add "good guesser" to your list of attributes?" He said with an even bigger smile.

Fran folded her arms and proceeded forward. "That isn't entirely untrue. But as soon as the intercom turned on I heard someone in the background complaining about the servicemen not showing up. These ears are not just for balance you know."

Another pleasant surprise courtesy of Fran, Balthier thought.

A cold air met the two as they entered, and where the outside reeked of industry. The inside had a pungent office-desk smell. Fran could feel the pressure under her feet change as her heels clacked against the marble floors, and her hearing was immediately assaulted with the incessant clacking of keys being pressed. Draklor was the peak of Ivalician technology, and the inside seemed like an entrance to a different dimension. The scarce Mist was still very much a factor.

As Balthier's eyes met with the winding hallways, strange computers, and cubicles imbued with strange designs and symbols it suddenly occurred to him how long it had really been since he was last at the facility. There was a strange absence of some type of lobby, and this peculiar facet made him feel all the more immersed with a part of his life that he chose to ignore. This place had always scared him as a child, and he remembered on a few instances where he was forced to be here that he was always thrown into some type of quiet room where he would be forced to remain until his father said otherwise. The employees all wore the heavy golden robes that most Archadian scientists wore. And they all seemed so busy. They busily hurried from one hallway to another, going through strange doors that were highlighted with either a red or blue light, and they never looked up. They were either staring intently at papers within their hands, or they just looked at the floor. None of them seemed happy—and the feeling was becoming contagious.

"Dare I say that this place is quite disturbing." Ffamran whispered to Fran. She didn't respond, but he was beginning to understand that that was merely a character trait of hers. So he continued. "So what happens when they began wondering if the boss' son, and his Vieran companion really have even a miniscule amount of knowledge on excavation policy?"

"I know not." She replied coolly. "I merely hoped that the woman who let us in would not be sitting at a desk on the other side of the door."

"Oh—so _now _you guess."

"I'm Vieran. Not psychic. Besides, it is not as if we are spies threatening to overthrow your father. If we are discovered, the matter will just need to be explained. You are a son requesting to see his father, yet you are aware of the confidentiality of this facility and have chosen to circumvent it. Nothing more, nothing less."

Balthier smirked. "I believe you just marginalized 'breaking and entering,' Fran."

"Another skill of mine. So do you know how to get—" Her thoughts were interrupted when a horrid smell suddenly invaded her sensitive nostrils. It was an acrid odor, one that she remembered from only animal carcasses and butcher shops. If one had ventured deep enough into Golmore Jungle it could be found there as well. And the smell was so faint that a normal creature would have needed to be much closer to discern its thickness, but Fran's nose—and her own experiences—helped her recognize the smell no matter how subdued its potency.

Ffamran had stopped because Fran had stopped. And the golden robed scientists walking past them had begun to throw glances at the two.

"I do not believe this is the most advantageous place to take a break, Fran." Balthier kept trying to sneak looks over his shoulder to notice who was looking at them. "Can we continue? What were you going to say?"

Her voice lightened. "Something's wrong."

"What? Some Mist-something or another?"

"No. Completely the opposite." The pair had stopped at a juncture of four different hallways, they were facing the north leading one, Fran turned her head towards the eastern one. "This way." Leaving Ffamran wide-eyed and wondering, she briskly moved down the hallway.

She was walking conspicuously fast, and the scientists down the hallway had managed to look up from their clipboards to eye the tall creature. The corridor itself seemed less distracted than the others, the doors spanning each side of the hall were becoming fewer and farther between, and a mechanical buzzing was starting to breach Balthier's ears.

"Fran!" He tried to whisper as loudly as he could. "Stall yourself, will you? Our robed friends here are starting to take notice of you!" It was then that Fran snapped out of her state of determination, and looked around to see that many of scientists up and down the hallways had stopped. And they were looking directly at Balthier and her. She stopped.

_How could I be so foolish?_ She cursed herself. But that smell was even more pungent, and she needed to know where it was coming from—and _why_ she was smelling it.

Halting seemed to be an invitation, and a rather sheepish looking scientist walked up to the two. He was balding, and he were wore thick glasses that magnified his eyes a bit. "Excuse me," he said in a voice deeper than his presence. "Can I help you two? You're heading towards a restricted area."

Fran stared at the man blankly, at a lost for words due to her growing anger.

"We're on a tour." Balthier suddenly said. "You must excuse us. My lovely companion here got us separated from our group in efforts to find a restroom."

The scientist held his gaze and raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. It suddenly dawned on Ffamran that he had never heard of Draklor giving a "tour."

"Well," the man began, "I do not know where your group is. But I believe it best for you to find a restroom in one of our visitor areas. Access to this section of the building is restricted to employees only."

Fran's eyes widened. "And why is that?' She said.

"Confidential information, my dear. But if you need directions to the rest room I can.."

"There will be no need for that at all, Mr. Aczasius." Balthier tensed as a grand voice erupted behind him.

The three turned to see a tall middle-aged man strolling gracefully towards them. His robes, speckled with purple and red insignias of all types of honors, trailed behind him. And the golden plated boots he wore could be heard against the floor as he strode towards them. The man had a wide smile, and his eyes were aimed straight at Ffamran.

"Well, well, well—the gods are smiling on me. It's not often that I get graced by a visit by my beloved son." The man said. Fran snapped her heads towards Balthier as soon as she heard it.

"Hello father." Ffamran said sharply.

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Blinding sun rays encased Dr. Cid as he sat at the large ornate desk placed directly in front of the large spherical window at the top of the laboratory. There was so much sun that entered the office that it seemed almost cruel to think that the rest of the laboratory might be shrouded in darkness because of this window. The top floor, as it turns out, was dedicated solely to Dr. Cid's work environment. And the room was filled with large statues, and bookshelves of all kinds. Each of them more elaborate than the next, all of them somehow menacing.

Balthier and Fran sat on the opposite side of the large desk, in such large armchairs they seemed ready to spring to life in a moments notice.

Dr. Cid was scribbling something on a stack of parchment when he began. "This laboratory, this office, even those chairs you're sitting on. They are all dedicated to the tireless task of business. Each employee, each branch of this facility, each subsidiary building located throughout the imperial city—all are devoted to the most efficient, significant, and_ powerful_ amount of _business_, necessary." His words were inflected and drawn out as he spoke. "Such devotion requires a gargantuan amount of seamless progression and sequence. To paint a picture for you would require the clichéd depiction of perhaps cogs on a machine. And what a grand machine, Draklor is."

_The __**point **__would be appreciated. _Balthier thought.

Dr. Cid stopped writing and intertwined his fingers as his eyes faced the two directly. "And as you know, Ffamran—for you had such an aptitude for physics before you decided to be the black sheep of our family—machines require everything to function exquisitely. Therefore, you could imagine my frustration when I receive a page from downstairs about two _twigs_ that have lodged themselves in the cog of my grand machine." His voice was rising. "So please tell me to what do I owe this pleasure? Why would my petulant seed decide to be an irritant to the production of my business today? I was under the inclination that your mother was the object of your arrogant disposition…"

And miraculously, Dr. Cid paused, and Balthier had a bit of time discerning whether or not it was dramatic or an actual opportunity to speak. A sarcastic head movement of Dr. Cid's proved it to be the latter.

"Well, Dr. Daddy—believe me, I have no intentions of faltering this 'business' that you hold so dear. I have business of mine own in fact. I come on behalf of my friend here as well."

Fran noticed the use of the word. She hadn't heard that in a long time either. But the tension between Balthier and his father permeated the room, and she couldn't focus much on what the term really meant about her and Ffamran's relationship.

"Ah. Forgive me." The scientist laughed. "Forget the meeting with Senate authorities that I have scheduled within the hour. Disregard the mining codes that I have to approve by the end of the day. Or the quarterly earnings that I have to discuss with our Board of Directors. Not to mention requests to come home from Alvaria, or even my _own _scientific research. Had I known that my son had _business_ I would have stopped the world from revolving much earlier."

Ffamran was turning red, his father angered him to no end. And his insensitive reference to his mother's pleas urged him to launch a bullet right through his father's chest. "Enough of this father. I'll get straight to the point."

"Allow me." Fran said, she sensed Balthier's evident anger might influence what he conveys. "Dr. Bunansa I humbly request that you forgive the intrusion. It's just that I come with a concern that could not be met with a protocol driven 'run-around' on the lower levels of your facility."

"I'll be the judge of that." Dr. Cid replied. "But you are much more neighborly than Ffamran here so I would be happy to hear your concern, lovely creature. It's not often that I get to see Viera. This is a scientific treat if nothing else."

"My sincerest thanks. I come on behalf of Lowtown." Dr. Cid turned his head to other things. "No doubt you have heard that some of the mining pipes spear-headed by your facilities are leaking poisonous deposits into the water supply of Lowtown?"

"Yes." Dr. Cid said coldly. "Your point?"

Fran did nothing. "I would hope the point clear, sir. Something must be done. Do you think that untrue?"

"No, not at all. Something must be done. The Lowtown denizens must merely find a new source of water until my research is complete."

Fran leaned forward. "But…!"

"My dear, your efforts here are a complete waste. And nothing more than what I've already heard from less beautiful protestors. What I am currently trying to implement is much bigger than the inhabitants of Lowtown. This research could lead to a new world as we know it. And it brings me such elation to know that I—a mere Hume—could be well on my way to changing the shape of the future. Are you suggesting that I somehow _postpone _innovation for the sake of a bunch of penniless rats that our aristocracy pays the government to take care of anyway? Out of the question."

Fran had not encountered such cruelty since she met the Elders of the Wood.

"Damn you, you old tyrant!" Ffamran jumped up from his seat. "How can you be so heartless?"

Dr. Cid returned to writing something on his desk, his mood unchanging. "Do not spout lectures to me, dear boy. You, who drive your mother mad everyday with your inability to care about anyone but yourself. And do not think I am unaware of your reputation with the young women of our inner circles." He laughed. "I would surmise you even have your own intentions of bringing this creature here with you, if you're not sleeping with her as well. I'll have no lectures from you."

It was like a cord snapped in Ffamran's chest, and he lunged across the desk towards his father. His father's neck—his aim—seemed so close, but he felt his progress hampered as long fingers gripped his shoulders and pulled him back to his seat. Fran was stronger than he thought.

"Calm yourself." Fran said with a soothing serenity that she summoned just for Balthier's sake. "_That_ would never lead to any solution."

Balthier remained in his seat breathing heavily as Fran stood over him holding him in place. If he wasn't in the midst of the one person he hated most, he would have been crying.

Dr. Cid hadn't budged; in fact, he had propped up his free hand and rested his chin in it. His other hand was writing in such a carefree manner that it was almost mocking. "Oh, Ffamran, for all your intelligence you lack discipline. It is all the more clear that I should enlist you in the Imperial Military. It would do you much good."

"You never knew what was good for me, and you never will." Balthier spat.

"Be that as it may, I need you out of my hair. Your mother deserves a reprieve as well. Unfortunately for you, I do love you however, so I'll see to it that you be entered into the new prestigious Judge-program that the Senate has recently decided to implement. They're looking for sharp prominent young men and women to join. I'll give you a recommendation, which is as good as an entrance pass."

He put down his writing utensil down and smiled at Fran. "Madam, I suggest you tell the Lowtown citizens to either progress in society. Or find some other way of rectifying their problem. I am not delaying my research for anyone. Understood?"

Fran didn't reply. Her stare was now just as cold as Dr. Cid's disposition.

"Ah well." He stood from his chair. "I've done my best to be cordial. Always a pleasure to have company! I'm afraid I did not catch your name lovely Viera?"

"Perhaps because it wasn't thrown."

"Haha. Well with that I now give you leave. Goodbye. I have more business to attend to. Can I trust you leave on your own or shall I provide an escort?"

Baltheir shot up from his chair and pushed it to the side. Grunting, he headed back towards the entrance. Fran watched her new friend head towards the door for a moment, threw a brief glare at Dr. Cid, and followed, her long hair glided through the air behind her as she turned.

Cidolfus Bunansa laughed. "Oh Ffamran, have I spurned you so?" He looked to a void space on his right. "I suggest you never have children. The apple never falls far from the tree, and it does its best to tear off some of the branches as it plummets."

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Ffamran got halfway down the empty hallway of the uppermost floor before collapsing against the wall. Fran hurried forward quickly and kneeled over the suddenly quivering teen. His face retained that dull rouge hue, and tears were streaming down his face.

"M—my apologies Fran. I'd hate for you to see me in such an unrefined state." He wiped his face with a jeweled hand. "If you c-could only k-know what that man has done to my mother and me." His voice was raspy, and shook with heaviness. "You would perhaps understand why I become so livid."

Fran's face still held no emotion, but with a sudden flush of compassion she grabbed the boy in his arms and held him to her. He hesitated with shock before relaxing, and turning his face into her bosom. Thoughts of Jote and Mjrn flooded into her mind.

"Sometimes it is hard to understand the motives of our elders." She said, Jote foremost on her mind. "Especially when they are shrouded in such unfathomable selfishness. But you—Balthier—have the blessing of being able to control your destiny. Your father's negligence is an opportunity to freedom, and what you do with that freedom is your choice. With such unbridled freedom resting within you, you have no reason to be distraught because of your father."

His sobs lessened. "What freedom…they're throwing me in the military."

Another memory hit Fran, and she smiled. "Trust me; the military merely sows a veil of restriction. Your freedom, and choice, ultimately remains with you."

"How do you know?"

"I suppose I should tell you a bit of my life, later."

Baltheir smiled, and suddenly removed himself from Fran's arms and stood erect. He wiped his face, his sleeves, and chest and smiled. Fran had no choice to return the favor after seeing the teenager's show of bravado. She was acquiring a fondness for this child that she had met rather arbitrarily. He suggested that they leave, he wanted to do a few things. First, he wanted to apologize to his mother. Second, he wanted to head to another branch of the Archadian government to see if they would enlist any help.

Fran nodded in agreement, and followed the young male once again. She was unaccustomed to the idea of following someone everywhere, but it took a bit of pressure off her own life. Yet there was something that had still very much worried her. And Ffamran had finally regained his composure so she did not wish to share her concern with him. On their ascent to Dr. Cid's office, the smell that haunted her—was one of death. Whatever it may be, the smell of fresh deadened flesh permeated that "restricted" hallway.

Was she surprised? No. Was she sickened? Dreadfully.

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**ATmac05: Sorry if it got a little melodramatic at the end. They needed a moment though, didn't they? Lol. Cid is an asshole….**


	10. A Mother's Agency

**ATmac05: Hello Everyone, first of all I wanted to give a sincere thanks to everyone who is still reading the story and has the patience to keep up with it. (Especially since FF13 has already come out—it completely froze on me and broke my Xbox so it has not gained my affections) I really have no excuses for the long wait except for college and life. But I'm trying to get back into my writing swing. And lastly, it was a very assertive review that prompted me to write this again, so reviews really do help! They let me know people are still reading and that people still care, and in this case, they hold me accountable. But so thanks and here's the tenth chapter—I hope it doesn't disappoint.**

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_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Ten**_

_**Regrets: A Mother's Agency**_

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Balthier had expressed a formidable sincerity when he told Fran in that cold corridor of the Draklor Laboratories that he would apologize to his mother, for he meant every word of that statement. Such proximity to his father was seldom experienced on his part, and so the hatred he had acquired for his father was a cold and distant one. It was akin to the hatred one feels for a tyrannical monarch or a criminal who executes a heinous crime. The hatred is only so potent and affirming because it is so black and white. If one does not know that the criminal had a family then said criminal can be hated without reservation. This sharp, incisive, and black and white hatred was the kind that Balthier had retained for his father, and he was quite comfortable with it.

But being right across the table from Dr. Cid did remind Balthier of something—that _that _criminal did in fact have a family. It was in the midst of lunging for the scientist's neck that Balthier was reminded that that man was his father, and remembering that he was his father undoubtedly led to the realization that Dr. Cid was married to his mother. This recollection might seem apparent, but it was not. This recollection was startling because Balthier realized that for all the pain that horrible man might have caused him, he had probably caused Alvaria (his mother) all the more. For Balthier Dr. Cid was just an obligatory sperm donor, a necessary avenue to life, and in life, a hazy and absent source of money, wealth, and prominence. Dr. Cid's opaqueness to Balthier's reality made him negligible, and so Balthier was able to live his life as he saw fit, regardless of his father.

But Balthier's mother had _loved_ this man_. _She had spent years putting the final touches on the picture of marriage that vows begin drawing. Alvaria had meticulously organized every ounce of their home life, because nestled in her heart were delusions that this man would love her more for being the woman that society told her she needed to be. Dr. Cid at one point had probably whispered promises of happiness into her ears, and kissed grandeur along her neck and breasts. She, in response, had gripped security into his back, and let him enter her lower dreams with his thrusts of aspirations. And together, they had probably come together into a proposed life of elegance, bliss, and of course, love.

That was how their marriage had begun, and Alvaria probably assumed that was how it was going to end. But alas, what were once kisses of grandeur became dismissals of ambition. The whisperings in her ears became excuses, and the promises he once offered her had become false. Dr. Cid had given her a home, but he had forgotten to give her a life. He had become despondent and removed. And when she took his apprehension for a depression she unfortunately discovered it to be indifference. Alvaria had thought that maybe her husband did not love her the way he had before because something was bothering him, but an argument one night illustrated that he merely now had other interests.

"_Cidolfus…" She had beckoned quietly between pale lips as her husband walked through the door one late night. "I did know not you would be home today." An air of pleasant surprise had heightened the pitch to her voice._

_Dr. Cid closed the door quietly and removed his coat. He glanced at his wife briefly, unimpressed. She was wearing a rather cheap looking red gown and no make-up. He hated when she wore no make-up. Her face was bland and expressionless without it. It seemed as if she could not even smile without deep rouge paint across her lips. Nor could intrigue be found in her eyes without the black liner adding a sultry palette to her eyelids. He wondered what he had been attracted to years ago, before he discovered that his wife was quite average without—furnishings. _

_Alvaria, however, had a beautiful smile that many complimented her on. Many of her friends often suggested that she wear less lipstick in order to reveal it. What Dr. Cid thought was Alvaria's inability to smile was nothing less than her unwillingness to do so. _

_There had been very little to smile about lately._

_Dr. Cid quickly put his coat away and again returned his gaze to his wife, holding it this time. He released a smile that Alvaria received genuinely though it was sarcastic. "I bring home over 500,000 gil a month and you dare spend it on cheap nightgown's like that?" He quipped._

_The subtle smile that had etched itself into Alvaria's visage vanished. "Oh? My dear I am sorry you do not like it. I promise you this is at the height of fashion in Archadian circles…" Her voice was tender._

_The doctor laughed. "Us Bunansas soar above heights dear wife. Heights tend to apex at some point." He pulled his face closer to hers and whispered, "We are limitless." _

_Alvaria was silent. The intensity of his statement coerced her into looking away. _

_Dr. Cid relented. "Speaking of the Bunansa line. Where is the boy?"_

"_I don't know. He's out consorting with heathens again I presume. Or gallivanting with some young ladies."_

_Balthier's father scoffed as he took a seat a rather expansive marble dining table. "Alvaria, this really has to stop. I believe we have quite an easy arrangement, I support this family by making scientific waves in Archadia—and the home is your stead. Our offspring is a part of that stead; therefore it is your responsibility to make sure he stays in line."_

_Alvaria became defensive, as she always did when it came to her son. "Cidolfus! That is grossly insensitive of you to say! I'm at the brink of my sanity trying to keep Ffamran in line! I'm doing my absolute best! The boy is just so trying and stubborn and—"_

_Cidolfus adjusted his sleeves. "I do not tolerate excuses from my workers, Alvaria, and why should I from you? It was you who wanted this child. I have much more deserving nephews to which I would have been happy to leave my fortunes. You wanted him, so handle him."_

_Alvaria most certainly did not need make-up to reveal the anger that flushed into her cheeks. "You speak as if he solely belongs to me! Perhaps if he had the influence of male he would be more apt to behave appropriately!"_

_Dr. Cid suddenly found her anger too closely verging on the edge of disrespect. _

"_Really now? You always prided yourself on being the proprietor of new-age femininity, are you going to wash all of that away by suggesting that you need a man to take care of a child?"_

_Alvaria was taken so far aback she almost felt as if she had been literally knocked to the ground. Her voice had risen. "Are you serious, Cid? Raising a child is a task that takes partnership, are you seriously suggesting that I should be capable of handling this on my own?" _

_He paused, looked at his wife intently, adjusted his glasses and then stood. He did not move upon standing, but rather started to look all around the room as if to assess his surroundings. "You are not doing this all by yourself," he sighed. "I'm doing my part as the male of this household. You should do yours as the woman."_

_The sound of an expensive vase crashing to the floor made Dr. Cid shoot his eyes towards his wife as if she had transformed. "What is your-?"_

_She interrupted him, shrieking, the vase shards scattered across her feet. "What has happened to you? What happened to the loving man whom I loved? The man who promised me the world? Prestige? Love? You once cared about me Cidolfus! And now you have degenerated into this heartless corpse that tells me that I cannot pull my wait as a wife? As a mother?" _

_A part of Dr. Cid almost returned her exclamation with an equally aggravated response, but he remembered that he prided himself on composure. So he calmed himself before simply replying._

"_This grievance is yours, dear wife. Not mine. I've given you everything that I possibly could have. If you do not know how to be appreciative then that is your fault. You ask what happened to me, but the question should be said of yourself. Look at you—sniveling and throwing priceless furniture as if you were some daft schizophrenic. Acquire yourself a backbone to wear under that ugly gown before you dare criticize me. You are absolutely lucky that I still choose to entertain your idiotic notions. I love you, woman. But I have grown infinitely fatigued with you. You once asked me about putting Ffamran in the military, I will permit this. But afterwards, I believe we should rethink our association as well. I should find a woman worthier of my affections." _

_And with that, he took his leave. _

Alvaria was devastated, and so she siphoned every remaining fiber of her weakening will into making sure that her house was the best ran in Archadia. If she could not have love then she would have domestic tranquility. The other aristocrats would marvel at her pristine furniture, her avant-garde tastes, and her refined graces and they would say _this woman is perfectly happy. Look at her home and manners, only a loving and fitting husband would have propagated such excellence in a wife. _

And so Balthier realized that his mother, his poor mother, was the real victim in this reality, and so he endeavored to apologize. It could not suffice for the pain both his father and he had inflicted on her psyche, but it could at least be the slither of love that she was so desperate for.

So he would apologize, and he would mean it.

* * *

But like most of his intentions, his mission to apologize to his mother was stymied. Instead of a saddened mother, Balthier arrived home to a cold and foreboding ambulance stationed at the end of the driveway. It hovered slightly about the ground as four cool blue fires shot downward from beneath its hulking mass. Durman parked the car just adjacent to it, but still far enough to recognize its urgency. The driver quickly came around to his master's door to open it, but Balthier had already shot out of the vehicle and was bounding towards his home with desperate speed.

He banged on the door until a maid opened it. Her eyes widened in shock and she tried to mutter something assumedly comforting, or perhaps preemptive. But Balthier just pushed her aside and rushed into his living room.

And there was his mother. Her skin polished in her ivory powder, her lips gorgeously infused with a blood red lipstick, and her long blonde locks cascading across on the ground around her head. She was laid on the ground, lifeless; eyes open with an empty gaze. Balthier felt a lump crawling up his throat as he watched a pair of men dressed in gold and black robes lifting his mother from the floor. She was wearing one of the most beautiful golden gowns he had ever seen her in. It was priceless, with small diamonds embroidered in elegant circles all along its seams. His mother was dead, and she had died beautifully. Tears began to return to Balthier's eyes as every curse he had ever thrown at his mother seemed to explode in his head like bullets.

"What happened?" He managed to breathe out.

Versyce, an elderly maid who had been with the family for years but her wrinkled fingers across Balthier's shoulders. "I'm sorry Master Ffamran," she said solemnly. "But your mother hung herself earlier this afternoon. We just discovered her less than an hour ago; for she said she was going shopping. She returned quietly, insisted that we give her some alone time in her room, and we soon found her. We've done all we can, young master. I apologize."

_Why are you apologizing? _Balthier thought. _I did this. My father did this. We killed her. _

Fran walked in at that moment. She had been hesitant, for she had felt the disturbance in the Mist surrounding the home soon before they had arrived. She could not quite pinpoint its cause at first, but the feeling was evident as soon as Durman had parked the car.

She surveyed the room. Sad Humes. A sight she was accustomed to seeing. Vieras handle sadness quite privately. When one Viera cries she often cries alone, witnesses and confidants merely look on with stoicism. It is anger that is contagious among Vieras. But sadness, no, it is something to be handled by the one who is most involved in it. Especially for death. Jote used to tell her "_the Wood calls us to live its will temporarily, but soon one must return to the Wood, for it always longs to be unified with its servants."_ So Vieras never looked at death in deep sadness, because it is a merely a return of life, not a loss of it.

But death functions much differently with Humes, she had noticed. They claim to believe in an afterlife, but apparently it is not wonderful enough for them to not regret death. Humes take sadness and let it pass from one Hume to another until everyone joins in on a chorus of sobs and tears. If one Hume breaks this cycle of tears, he or she is either berated or admired. But the chorus must occur.

Vieras think of death as unification with the Wood, but Fran looked at the crying Humes, and saw that death seemed to be currently devoid of its unifying quality. Perhaps another flawed conclusion of the Wood's pedagogy. Only despair seemed to fill the room, and despair often made Humes respond in the oddest of ways.

Balthier in particular was acting very strangely. His face had flushed and his eyebrows contorted in such a way that it seemed as if his young frustration was lodged in his forehead. Fran could only presume that he was holding back tears. It was admirable that he was trying to be so strong, but he needs to cry, Fran thought. Another odd thing she had noticed about Humes is that their separate genders often gave way to foolish notions. In this case, Fran was reminded of the notion that a male Hume should be less apt to cry than female Humes. The Viera started to become sad herself when she thought of this sad and misguided belief. Here was a young man who was watching his mother be carried away to eternity, and this was occurring after an instance of feeling particularly alienated by his father. Balthier was becoming orphaned before his very eyes—what reasonable society would dare tell someone that they could not cry because of that?

"Master Bunanasa!" The front door opening allowed a small breeze to carry this voice from the corner of the room.

Balthier and Fran tightened as they watched Dr. Cid enter his home. He had two men accompanying him, and he seemed rather calm as the servants quickly took his robes and hung them up. His presence changed the whole mood of the room. What had begun as a remorseful silence had turned into anxious urgency as the servants tried to explain to Dr. Cid what happened. Balthier grimaced at the indignity that his father brought out of people. The servants seemed to be trying to explain the situation out of fear of his father more than anything else. Balthier was suddenly filled with an uncontainable anger as he thought of the abuses that Dr. Cid had enacted on his mother, igniting her trajectory to suicide. It took everything, _everything_ Balthier had not to launch a fist into his father's neck. But then his mind wandered to the ways he had hurt his own mother, what right did he have to be mad at his father? They were both accomplices in the destruction of Alvaria mied Bunansa. Tears started to stream across his retina as his mind tried to house both hatred and regret. Without giving a word to anyone he suddenly vaulted upstairs, unable to stand and feel so unequivocally powerless at the same time.

* * *

The entire room watched in abrupt shock as they watched the young master bound up the staircase. Dr. Cid scoffed. "Hmph, the boy cannot quite possibly expect to be a suitable adult and not be able to handle the sight of death." Fran saw the insensitive comment hit everyone's expression in the room, but she knew that no one was really shocked.

Dr. Cid walked over to his wife's body, which the paramedics had promptly gathered on a stretcher and were in the process of lifting.

"You are taking the body to a hospital I presume?" Dr. Cid said formally.

The paramedic seemed almost shocked by the obviousness of the question. "Yes sir. You can ride with us on the ambulance if you would like."

"No, that won't be necessary. I don't want the body at the hospital. I would actually prefer for you to take it back to my laboratory."

The paramedic lowered his eyebrows and briefly looked at his coworker. "Sir, respectfully, protocol dictates that…"

Dr. Cid smirked. "Listen boy, clearly you are not acquainted with Archadian politics. Because if you were, you would know who I am and would thusly know not to contradict my demands. My wife is to be taken to the East Wing of my laboratory. If you refuse to comply—and surely I assume you to know better—she will be taken there by _my_ men, and you will find yourself scraping for change in Lowtown."

The recipient of the harsh address merely held his mouth open in fear. "Learn to know who the real authority in this city is, boy." Dr. Cid replied calmly. "And I appreciate your compliance. I will alert your supervisor to my request and will give a most gracious account of your valiant efforts here today. Such fine servicemen in this city." Fran had never seen a man humiliate another with just a smile, but Dr. Cid was quite extraordinary in his villainy.

Dr. Cid projected his voice to the entire room. "This is an unquestionably sad event that has occurred here today. But I encourage everyone to remember that death is merely a part of life, and as such, we should approach it with confidence and decisiveness, as one should approach everything in one's own life. Here we have a woman who unfortunately could not approach her own life with the agency that life requires. As a result, she could not handle the pressures of being in control of one's own life. Control is a _big_ responsibility, friends, and self-control an even greater responsibility. I entreat all of you to maintain your self-control so that you will not subject yourself to what my dear wife has done to herself this day. Suicide is cowardice, it is defeat, it is a sign of weakness. So let this terribly sad day be a reminder to be brave in all of your endeavors. I will miss my wife dearly. I loved her so much. But carry-on, my friends. Do not let this day be a hitch in your stream of productivity. For while it stops for some," he glanced at Alvaria's body, "life goes on for the rest of us."

The mist pulsating through Fran was seething; she could not take the heartlessness anymore. She decided to go attend to Balthier.

* * *

Balthier was lying on his bed when he heard a sharp knock at the door. Another servant was undoubtedly trying to comfort him. He put his face to his pillow before yelling a muffled, "I do not wish to be bothered!" He lifted his head when he felt his door open anyway. _Who dares enter my room without my permission?_ He thought as his body angrily shot up, but he relaxed when he saw that it was his copper-colored comrade.

"It is not my intent to bother you." Fran replied.

Balthier swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat, resting his jeweled fingers between his knees. "Oh, my apologies Fran, you must understand that I am just very agitated at the moment."

She took a seat next to him. "Agitation is not a feeling I would presume would occur as a result of death. Sorrow, perhaps. Regret. Not agitation."

"Then perhaps it is not agitation, but a culmination of all of those feelings. Because I most certainly feel everything you just stated, Fran. Perhaps I do not know what I am feeling. I am quite unaccustomed to these types of feelings. Feelings that breach sentimentality. I am not a sentimental person, Fran."

"Nay, but you are human. And Humes are capable of more emotion then they would often give themselves credit for."

There was silence for a moment. "I feel shameful, Fran. I failed my mother in ways that I cannot even fathom to organize. I blamed her for my unhappiness. I have been so spoiled! I have been given everything that I could possibly want, and when I wanted more all I merely had to do was utter my last name and the citizens of Archadia would throw anything I requested in my face. And in the midst of all of this I dared to be unhappy! I dared to rebel! And against what? Nothing. I was being a childish and selfish adolescent, marveling in my own insolence. And I brought my mother into my trivialities. Judging her and criticizing her at every moment for every little thing. Little did I know that she was suffering from such immense pain. I've been soulless and heartless. Just an empty tyrant who drove his mother to suicide."

In the middle of his lamentations Balthier had stood and begun accenting his remarks with focused arms and hands. When he felt that he had finished he had stopped and turned to Fran, admittedly he was expecting consolation, but when he was met with her usual face of stone he returned to his seated position on his bed and buried his face in his hands.

What followed was an even longer silence. Fran sat perfectly still and stared in front of her. Balthier sat to himself waiting for her to say something astounding, something that would uplift his spirits and tell him that everything would be okay. Yet nothing came but silence. He began to take the silence for agreement. Maybe Fran knew as well that he had killed his mother and her silence was merely a declaration of omission. This thought grieved him; it hurt so badly to know that someone knew that he had caused his mother's death. It was as if the shared knowledge strengthened his point, and it pained him so terribly that the tears began to grow once again. And he sobbed.

"At last." Fran broke the silence.

Balthier looked up at her with his drowning eyes. "Wh—what?"

"The Mist was calling for your tears. It felt your pain and wanted to share it with you so that it may relieve you of some of your burden."

"Fran you baffle me with this talk of Mist."

"The Mist is life's essence." Her voice was calm and soothing. "It seeps into every instance of our reality, be it pain and suffering, or happiness. The Mist is strong where emotions are strong, and it is weak when feelings and life run cold. Being so intertwined into every aspect of life, it becomes quite sympathetic to its troubles. It feels your tears, and it wishes to comfort you. Just as it called for your mother, to rescue her from her pain."

Balthier ran the back of his fist across his cheeks to clear the tears before lowering his gaze to the floor. "It would behoove me to believe that my mother died because some supernatural entity wanted her back—at least for my own comfort—but I know that I truly had some hand in my mother's death."

The young imperial looked up when he felt the bed shift; Fran had stood up. Rays of sunset streaming through a nearby window traced up her white sundress and illuminated parts of her body ever so lightly that Balthier was momentarily distracted by her allure. But he was quickly brought out of his distraction when he felt Fran's sinewy arms lift him from the bed and to her chest. His cheek rested against her bosom. But he did not attain the type of pleasure he would've garnered at perhaps a less grave time, because the gesture immediately allowed him to see it for what it was. A hug.

"Ffamran—Balthier, whatever you wish to be called." Fran said softly over his head. "I grow quite fond of you. You are probably the most sincere Hume I've met in a long time. Maybe it is your youth. You must forgive yourself for the pain you might have caused your mother. Understand that it was _she _who took her own life. Not you. Do not do your mother the disservice of suggesting that she did not even have control over when she was to leave this world. It is painful to leave family behind." She thought of Jote and her beloved little sister Mjrn. "But we must understand that everyone has power over their own decisions. You can whine frivolously now, or you can show your mother your gratitude for all that she did by letting her own up to her own death. Forgive her. Forgive yourself."

Balthier sighed deeply. "But I do not know how to do that, Fran."

"My people like to say that we never figure out how to accomplish things, but Time does. Time will show you how to do all things, Balthier."

Another sigh, some final thoughts of clarity, and Balthier stood back from Fran's release. He cleared his throat and nonchalantly wiped his mouth.

"Thanks Fran. Much appreciated." He said with a smirk. "I suppose you're right. No, I dare say I know you're right. All this wallowing and whining is not very becoming of such a dashing young man as myself."

Fran made no face, but she would've smiled.

"Ah—from tenderheartedness to indifference. That is quite you, Fran." He laughed. "Well let's channel all this emotion into something productive. What is my dastardly daddy up to down there?"

Fran suddenly remembered. "He was behaving quite strangely. He ordered the body to be sent to his lab."

Balthier face tightened. "For what? If that tyrant thinks he can use my mother's body for some trite experiment then some correction may be in order."

"The Mist was very low in his lab as well. I felt the essence of Death as we were leaving."

"Well then that quite settles it. We're going to back to that laboratory to see what my lunatic of a parent is up to."

"And what will we do if we find anything?"

"Alert the authorities, Fran. My father may have some influence, but Archadian history shows that even the richest of braggarts succumb to the law. Especially since most of the city probably wants some stake in his wealth as well. The law will blunt his seemingly razor-sharp political edge. But we're planning this carefully Fran. Meet me downstairs will you?"

Fran followed suit, inwardly taking joy at the young boy's sudden rejuvenation.

Balthier waited for Fran's exit, and when he felt the click of the door closing he relaxed his body. With his eyes closed he took one more deep breath and thought of his mother. He decided that it was not too late to finish what he had originally returned home to do.

Aloud, but quietly, he said. "Mother, I sincerely hope you're listening right now. I did not deserve your ears in life so I am sure that I do not deserve them now. But for all the torment and ill-will I caused you, I just want to say—I'm sorry."

As Fran was walking down the stairs, she felt the Mist of the manor pulsate with feelings that gave her a sense of gratitude and forgiveness. Somewhere, she felt, someone had been forgiven. And—very uncharacteristically so—Fran could not help but smile.

* * *

**ATmac05: So please keep reviewing with comments and/or questions concerns! I know this story is taking QUITE a long time but as I said it will be finished. I have nothing but time this summer so I'll be doing my best. The next few chapters will be much more action-oriented and are kind of a turning point in the story so get ready. **


	11. Stealth and Closure

**ATmac05: It's been a long time coming! As most of the last few chapter updates have been. I've been so busy with school, that I really feel compelled to finish only once I truly have a little downtime. However, as I have said, I will not abandon this story. And there is only one more chapter left until its completion, which I can promise will be coming very very soon, it will be short. As always, I appreciate those of you (if there are any of you left) who've kept up with the story over these years. And I sincerely appreciate the new readers as well. If you are happening upon this story, I would truly appreciate your review. Even if it is just a short word to let me know that you liked it. As a writer, I appreciate all criticisms, extensive or brief—as long as they are constructive. That being said. Enjoy. A very action packed chapter awaits you. **

* * *

_**A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Eleven**_

_**Family Politics: Stealth and Closure**_

* * *

With the magnitude of determination and the brevity of revitalization, a new day began. Ffamran mied Bunansa had decisively deemed himself Balthier, evidence of his newfound resilience. His mother's death had exposed his childishness, an adolescent complacency with privilege and irresponsibility. The new name brought him a new awareness and a new sense of purpose. He, dare he admit it, was growing up. And if the new name wasn't enough, his new ensemble said it all. The ivory-colored silk tunic coaxing his torso said that he had the finesse of an adult fully come into himself. The bisque leather vest about his chest held the ethos of resilience. Dexterity and relentless flexibility, said the tightly fitting black pants about his slender legs, and the golden greaves—well, those just said vanity. But he was about to unravel whatever transgressions his father was committing in that damned laboratory of his, and if he didn't do it with a hint of vanity, then he wouldn't be Balthier.

Fran entered his room, an occurrence that interrupted his musings in front of the mirror. He noticed that she was re-fitted in the black armor he had originally met her in, albeit a newer version. It was sleek and refined. The new armor accented much of her legs as well as her torso. Its new design screamed of Archadian innovation, and it was accompanied with new headgear as well.

"You look stunning, Fran." He allowed himself to be forward.

Her eyes climbed from his feet to his head, not a far journey due to her height. "You look…indulgent." She quipped with a characteristic lisp.

"Indulgence is my middle name, Ms. Fran."

A welcome disposition in contrast to the saddened Balthier she had just seen the day prior. Fran wondered if Balthier truly had the willpower to be so boastful and confident so soon after his mother's death. She too had lost a mother, and it had taken her years to come to terms with it. Losing her best friend Relj was no less difficult, and she had not passed away, merely departed. Perhaps, Fran thought, Humes were not the feeble creatures she had grown to conceptualize. Misguided. Yes. Immature. Certainly. Imperfect. Definitely. But they were strong creatures, able to subsist with so few natural defenses. And they dominated the world. No doubt about it.

"So let's think about this." Balthier began. "You said that my father requested that my mother's body be sent to his laboratory?"

Fran nodded.

"At our previous visit, you felt the presence of Death, you said?" Another nod. Fran had taken a seat on Balthier's bed. "This leaves us with quite the quandary. My dear daddy is most certainly not the most humanitarian of sorts, but his work is not a mystery, certainly not diabolical, unless you harbor a particular abhorrence for materials engineering."

Fran thought of the Vieran Elders. "Sometimes that which we assume to understand is that which is most diabolical," she said. Balthier noticed the quiver full of arrows, and the bow attached to her back.

"I agree." He replied. "Well, this leaves us no choice. We have to find out what my father would need with a dead body."

#####

Durman drove uneasily. As Balthier's personal attendant and dedicated driver, he generally had a good sense of when he was driving his master into confrontation. The destination was no less disconcerting. Precedent had shown that the Draklor Laboratories was not a place one frequented when seeking a pleasurable sightseeing voyage. He ventured to pick his young master's brain as he drove through the city streets.

"Master Ffamran." Durman peeked through the vehicle mirror. He saw an intense concentration in the young boy's brow, and the immovable and yet beautiful stoicism of the Viera's visage. The two sat in the backseat, both looking out at their respective windows.

"Yes, Durman?"

"May I ask…?"

"No."

The elder stammered, already sensing his defeat. "Will you be needing a ride back?"

"Beats me, Durman. You'll be alerted if the necessity arises. Also, forgive my reticence, but I'm not receptive to questions at the moment."

Code for _shut the hell up_. Durman figured. "Well, young master, if you will permit me to comment rather than question? I must say that your mother always trusted me with the responsibility of your safety."

"I know, Durman."

"That being said, with her untimely passing I find that taking care of you is not only my duty as a servant, but a way of paying homage to Mistress Bunansa."

"Of course." Balthier replied nonchalantly, though he was appreciating his faithful servant's words.

"Therefore sir, I caution you, as well as assert-that you better not die." Durman uttered that last line with a nuance that extended beyond servant and hinged on imperative. Balthier felt the weight of his servant's words, and with a respect that he always maintained though never quite expressed, he replied:

"Yes sir."

* * *

Archadia was alight with the news of Alvaria mied Bunansa's death. Citizens of all classes were quite intrigued when they discovered that wealth, indeed, was not invincible. Balthier could see hoards of people crowding around newspaper stands and tabloid salesmen, thirsty for the salacious events of the previous day. LADY BUNANSA OF HOUSE SOLIDOR COMMITS SUICIDE. WIFE TO FAMED ENGINNER FOUND DEAD. DECADENCE OF ARISTOCRACY SURMOUNTS: ALVARIA MIED BUNANSA MEETS FATAL END.

"It's maddening," Balthier uttered. Fran turned towards him, "to think of what my mother's legacy will be in the minds of the masses. Merely a member of House Solidor, or just the 'wife of a famed engineer,' or 'decadent.' Is this what she will leave this world remembered as?"

Fran looked briefly at Bathier before turning her gaze forward. "You are your mother's legacy." She said. "Not this."

"Ha! I shudder to think what the headlines about my death will read."

Fran said nothing, silently musing on the peculiar ways in which Humes dealt with death.

* * *

"Draklor Laboratory." Durman sang as the vehicle left the winding backroads of Archadia and entered the menacing compound. A bronze hue seemed to pierce the air as the hovering automobile lowered itself to the ground and Fran and Balthier removed themselves from the car. Again, the outside of the gargantuan building was riddled with Bangaas and Seeq carrying large steel bars, wood, coal, and other materials undoubtedly geared towards construction. Scaffolding riddled the outside of the building, obstructing Durman's car from view to all but the most idle. Thankfully, the workers were much too busy with their own doings to notice the young lad and the Viera say their goodbyes to Durman.

"I do not know what you are trying to accomplish by returning to this place, but I wish you good luck in your endeavors, Master Ffamran. Please do be careful."

"Durman, I'm going to my own father's laboratory. You need not be so frightened."

"My dear boy, you've had the displeasure of dealing with Dr. Cidolfus for only 17 years, I've known him for much longer. I have reason to fear when I suspect you're entering his domain uninvited." He turned toward Fran, whose height just escaped him. "Master Ffamran has taken quite the liking to you. As a new companion of his, can I trust you to keep him safe?"

Fran nodded, she quite liked Durman. "My people have a saying, 'my wind is carrying her wings.' You needn't worry."

Durman sheepishly smiled, and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Well then. Please call when you are finished."

The car whirred off, and Balthier and Fran turned their attention towards the laboratory.

"The Mist…it's strange." Fran massaged her left temple. "It's subtle, nearly absent like the fleeting Mist of a dying body, yet it is of a strange character, unlike any Mist I've ever experienced before."

Balthier looked onward at the compound. "Well whatever the nature of this Mist of which you speak, wherever it is, that's probably where we'll find what's going on in this place. Can you lead us to it?"

"Yes. We must get inside."

"Of course, and I doubt they'll let us walk through the front door."

Fran began to look around. Workers of all species were dispersed throughout. Some moving leisurely, talking amongst each other, others dutifully handling the management of their tasks, moving various goods and tools to various places on the compound. It was during this observation that her eyes focused on a rather ill colored Seeq carrying a large clump of rock on his shoulders. He slumped over to the side of building, where Fran then noticed a large recess in the ground. With a grunt, the Seeq heaved the material into the hole. Just as it was released, a Bangaa climbed out of the hole, he began yelling at the Seeq, apparently having been hit by the cluster of material as it fell.

The incident sparked an idea for Fran. "There," she said to Balthier as she pointed at the recess. "That way might lead into the building."

"An underground entrance? Must we be so cliché?"

Fran shot a merciless stare toward Balthier.

He cleared his throat, scolded. "That way it is. Now how might we get past all these workers?"

"By distraction." Swiftly, Fran removed an arrow from her quiver. She turned it upwards, with the tip pointing towards the sky. Balthier stepped back as Fran's entire body suddenly began to glow a faint but deep purple, small golden orbs began to escape from her body like drifting pollen. With a tender gasp, a small ember materialized onto Fran's fingertips, which she promptly moved towards the arrow tip, igniting it.

_I forgot about that little talent of hers. _Thought Balthier.

Fran positioned the lit arrow on her bowstring, pulling back and aiming towards a large of pile of wood positioned at the outskirts of the compound. Balthier could see that the slight sinewy muscles of her arms were tensed as she released the string. The arrow surged forward, zipping a linear path through the air before colliding with the mass of wood. Like the arrow tip, but in a much more grandiose fashion, the wood ignited, creating a large, and most certainly distracting, fire.

"Fire!" One of the workers yelled, and in frenzy, the workers of the compound all began heading towards the enflamed bulk.

"Wonderful." Balthier remarked. "You're quite the problem-solver."

"It is an old trick."

Behind the swarm of workers, the nimble viera and the arguably less nimble Hume bounded towards the recess. Upon reaching the entry way, which now showed itself to be a cylindrical metal tunnel with an iron ladder bolted to its inside, Fran and Balthier met a moss colored Bangaa just as he was finishing his ascent.

"Who the hell…?" With an almost indiscernible deftness, Fran bashed her elbow into the Bangaa's skull before grabbing him by his neck and tossing his comatose body to the side before it could fall back down the tunnel.

Balthier was a bit stunned. "Are we going to clobber every being we encounter from here on in?"

"For as long as we are availed of other options. Hurry."

"Fair enough."

Balthier was the first to climb down.

* * *

Fran and Balthier found themselves immersed with a network of water-filled tunnels. Clumps of dirt and rock filled the waterways, being carried to indeterminable destinations.

"I've heard of this, it's a refinery system." Balthier commented as Fran and he continued alongside the iron pathways on either side of the waterways. "Once minerals are mined from the earth, they are gathered together for transportation. They are then dropped into these waterways, which carries the minerals to filtering systems that separate the valuable items from the waste. It's a landmark innovation spearheaded by my father."

"These must be what contaminate the waters of the residents of Lowtown."

"Well, the unusable waste has to go somewhere, and I venture likely not into the sliver spoons and golden chalices of the Archadian elite."

Fran stopped abruptly. Balthier tensed in response. "I hear something." She said, her long ears twitching.

"What is it?" Balthier asked.

_The doctor's going mad! Absolutely batty, the old twit._

_How can someone who 'as put Archadian technology on the map be becoming so daft? _ _It's baffling—ludicrous. _

"Voices." Fran replied. She grabbed Balthier's hand and led him across a narrow bridge to the other side of the waterway. They pressed their backs against the wall and leaned towards the corner, awaiting the arrival of the voices.

"Is it true what they say? That he's been found talking to himself?" One of the men said.

" 'Course it is! Heard 'em myself!"

"Are they talking about my father?" Balthier whispered.

"Quiet," said Fran.

The owner's of the voices rounded the corner. Two Humes, pudgy men, wearing dirt stained clothes and metal helmets. They didn't last long. Fran unleashed a backwards kick sent one of the spiraling into wall. Feeling obligated, Balthier uppercut the remaining worker square in his jaw, the blow was just enough to daze him. Fran followed with a swift kick to his chest eliciting a guffaw from the man before he fell along the edge of the waterway.

They continued along the waterway. The thickness created by the traveling water grew burdensome. Small droplets of mist danced along Balthier's skin as they proceeded. Fran was particularly uncomfortable, Golmore Jungle was a uniquely dry jungle that subsisted on Mist rather than water, and thus Vieras were unaccustomed to humid climates, or humidity period for that matter. The system of tunnels meandered in several directions, creating a maze that could only be navigated surely by a map or familiarity. Luckily, Fran could follow the thin thread of peculiar Mist that pulsated in her head.

"What does it feel like?" Said the young voice behind Fran.

"What?"

"This Mist of which you speak? What does it feel like?"

Fran took a moment to collect her thoughts. She never had to describe the feeling before, and it was hard to find the vocabulary for it in Hume tongue.

"There are different feelings." She commenced. "When the Mist is 'good' as you say in your language, the feeling is invigorating. If a place is full of peace, full of life, and joy. Like a thriving forest or clean sea, then my body becomes riddled with warm sensations that energize me. They feel closest to warm caresses from another. I met a Hume mystic who once had the ability to communicate with the Mist, even though she had given it another name. She compared the feelings to what sensations overcome Humes' bodies when they are impassioned."

Balthier listened intently, while slowing taking in the majesty of Fran's frame.

"When the Mist is low, I feel a constant weight on my body, draining. I grow tired more quickly. The Mist is low when life is diminished. In heavily industrialized Hume cities, this is most evident. This is perhaps why your kind has lost the ability to be sensitive to the Mist, for your technology has destroyed the channels through which it thrives."

Balthier looked downward, her statement made him feel somewhat guilty. Though he quickly realized he was not to blame for the technological advancements of Humes. Or could he, in his own small way, be responsible?

Fran continued. "The Mist is living, and thus it experiences emotions as every other being does. I can feel these emotions coursing through my veins, and I cannot help but experience them as the Mist does. When the Mist laments, so do I, when it is angry, I too am incensed."

"Does the Mist have a voice?" Balthier asked.

Fran stopped, and sadness crept into her mind. She had long abandoned the teachings of her people, and the words of the Wood, but one verse quickly flashed into her mind, for it was proving to be true.

_Thou must never abandon the Wood, thine own reprieve, thine solace. For the Voice of Wood calls out to those who dwell within it. Abandon thy home, and thou will be met with silence. Intricacy 2: 32_

"Fran?" Balthier called. "Something wrong?"

"The Mist has a voice. I lost the ability to hear it a long time ago."

Fran said nothing afterwards. Balthier wanted to inquire further, but a voice of his own told him to refrain.

* * *

"The Mist is leading me through here." Fran was alluding to a wide iron door lodged into the wall. They had reached what seemed to be the end of the waterway, as the water was now stemming from a low metal grate, and dead-end wall halted any possible progress. Adjacent to the dead end was the aforementioned door.

"Alright," chimed Balthier, "let's see what's on the other side." He gripped the door handle and shifted it upwards. The clicking sound of moving locks resounded through the air. Adding another hand, Balthier pulled the door towards him. It squeaked as it opened.

The tone of their environment had shifted from iron to copper as they stepped onto a platform elevated high above ground. They were met with a gush of cold and open air as Balthier and Fran begin to absorb the grand view before them.

A huge winged aircraft lay before them, grafted into intricate connections of metal wires and steel beams. Its front held two large cannons jutting forward, nestled underneath were two circular turbine engines, poised to unleash propelling fire at a moment's notice. Gorgeous burnt orange and lavender wings extended from its sides with a majesty that played at Balthier's boyish fantasies, his eyes widened.

"I cannot believe it!" He moved forward on the platform. "An underground hangar that houses an airship! It's breathtaking, Fran. Much smaller than I've usually laid my eyes upon. It must be a newer model, weapon-based. Look at those cannons! My father owns the Archadian Shipwright's Guild that designs these, you know. You know Fran, I took lessons for years that taught me how to fly these things. I stopped several months ago." He paused, taking a breath. "What I wouldn't do to fly an airship…"

"Balthier!" Fran screamed. She lunged forward and pushed him to the floor of the platform, bullets seared above them as they landed to the ground.

Balthier looked over the edge of the platform. Scientists had been posted at workstations on the lower levels of the hangar, presumably they had notified the small band of soldiers that had suddenly entered. The bulk of them were outfitted with the darkly toned battle gear of Archadia, a few wore armor, higher ranking officers. All of them had projectile weapons of some sort.

"Intruders!" Called out one of the armored soldiers. "They've set fire to the outer perimeter and incapacitated personnel! We've orders to shoot on sight! Fire!

Balthier's eyes were attacked with the clanging of bullets spraying the platform. He stayed low.

"Dammit Fran. Escape might be a rather apt solution at this point in time! Ideas?"

Fran was already glowing. The air whistled as Fran unleashed a torrent of water from her hands. The blast of water cascaded down the platform and surged against the laboratory's defenses. Scientists' and soldiers' feet were knocked from beneath them as they splashed against the now watery surface. Fran took the opportunity to rise and utilize her bow. A quick barrage of arrows dealt with a few more soldiers who had resisted the flood.

"Come!" Fran bellowed. "The presence of the Mist is getting stronger."

She skirted towards the platform's ladder and swiftly descended. Balthier followed, a bit more deliberately, he had not the lithe limbs of a Viera to support him. They were met with a few more bullets as they reach the lower level, the dual offense of water and arrows had not done away with all of the soldiers. Yet Fran's Vieran military skills shined through. With a dexterity and force that Balthier had yet to see from any creature, much less a female one, Fran pushed through the onslaught of soldiers. Some were felled with sweeping kicks to their throats. Others faced the blows of Fran's heavy punches. In one particularly admirable feat, Fran slid in between two soldiers, tripped them to the ground with the same kick, and then quickly unleashed an arrow on an attacker that had approached her from behind.

_I must remind myself to steer clear of her bad side. _Balthier mused. He began moving through the bodies that Fran was leaving behind in her wake. He felt a tad useless given that his fighting skills were not _quite_ up to par; he had found physical education courses a bit loathsome and childish.

He stopped suddenly as a body fell his feet. Another acquaintance with Fran's wrath.

"Hmm…though I do doubt schooling would've equipped me with this particular brand of calisthenics." The young noblesse was about to step over the body when the toe of his boot knocked against something hard. He looked down and noticed a shotgun, ornate, emblazoned with silver and gold plating.

"Ah." He said. "Now Gun Ranging was a class I excelled in." He picked up the weapon, look into the barrels, and smiled.

* * *

A displeased father looked onto a console of screens. Each showing his offspring and feminine companion work their way through the labyrinth of his facility. A soft smirk emerged as he saw his security forces drop to the ground one by one. It seemed that neither saber nor shotgun could stop them as they continued onward through the lower levels of Draklor. They were relentless in their pursuit, he could see. Scratching the stubble of his chin with a gloved hand, he removed himself from his chair and turned towards the main of his office.

"What could they be after Venat? Could it be, _that_? Do they know of it?" He said with a laugh. "Pests. 'Tis what they are. To think, the directionless petulance that is my son is daring to be valiant! That Viera is no doubt his motivation. Only women spur men to work against their inherent characters. I must commend him on obtaining such a beautiful specimen." Dr. Cidolfus chuckled again.

An alarm sounded.

"Hmph. They've reached Sector 5. They're much too close for my tastes. I guess I must handle this on my own. I presume I'll have your help Venat?"

* * *

An alarm rang through the air. Though that seemed to be the most commotion the duo would have to contend with. Countless soldiers lay behind them, most merely out of commission, others in worse states. Fran breathed heavily and pushed the hair from her face that had begun to mat due to sweat. She traced her hands along the heavy steel door in front of her.

"This alien Mist, it's pulsating most strongly from beyond this door."

Balthier put a hand on his hip as he scanned his gaze over the door. A keypad rested to its left.

"It's encrypted." He said. "Quite the treasure must be beyond these doors."

"Ah!" A short yelp escaped Fran.

"What's wrong?" Balthier ran over to the Viera, who had knelt to the ground holding her head.

"Nothing," she breathed, "just this Mist. It sent a short jolt in my mind. It's—contaminated."

"Contaminated? Mist?"

Just then, a small beeping noise pierced the air. The two turned. A small blue light had appeared on the keypad. Within moments, the heavy gears decorating the steel door began to shift and spin as the door began to open from its middle. Its two halves began to slide sideways into the wall as small puffs of steam began to escape from the room. It dissipated once the doorway was fully opened. A blood red glow from within began to illuminate Fran and Balthier's faces.

Balthier helped Fran climb to her feet; she was still responding to whatever effect the Mist was having on her. They moved forward into the ominous light.

And Fran screamed, because she could feel the Mist screaming.

"Fran!" Balthier watched in amazement as his friend begin to wail and tremble uncontrollably. "What is this? What is the source of this?"

"Why look around dear son!" A voice rang through the room. Balthier immediately clenched his teeth and begin darting his vision around the room in hopes of finding his father. It was then they noticed what lie before him.

Bodies. Human corpses in transparent encasings lined across the walls. The room they found themselves in was a giant expanse of metal and machinery. From the floor beneath them to the dome ceiling above them all was iron and steel. Attached to the mechanized coffins were long thick tubes that reached downward towards a large sphere nestled in the middle of the complex. It was clear that the tubes were collecting something, into the gargantuan sphere at the center of the room. It was unclear exactly _what_ was being transported.

The owner of the voice surfaced. Dr. Cid emerged from the darkness, the red glow of the room alighting his unnatural grin. He work a black robe accented with gold, and too long pistols rested in either hand.

Balthier's eyes bucked when he saw the weaponry. "Is that it father?" He yelled. "Do you endeavor to slay your own son?"

The doctor laughed. "My son, you have a weapon in your hand. Must I not be allowed the same courtesy? I'm sure you're quite aware of the Golden Rule."

Fran shrieked once again. She was on her knees, convulsing and screaming with an instability that terrified Balthier.

"Stifle your witticisms you tyrant!" Balthier raised his gun. "What is this place? And why is it affecting Fran this way?"

"Hm. So you don't know? For all the trouble you've caused I surmised that you would at least have the justification for it. Dill-witted Ffamran, this place is of no concern to you. It is a place of genius and of man's ingenuity! As all things of mine are. It holds no place for your misguide adolescence!"

"Is my mother one of those corpses?" The young Bunansa bellowed. "You used your own wife's corpse for one of your experiments? Is nothing sacred father? You pollute the inhabitants of Lowtown's water supply, abandon your son and wife, and then use the latter for technological advancement? Is science worth all of this? Archadia is an empire in no small part due to your brilliance! What more could you want? Is wealth and glory worth all of this?"

Dr. Cid became incensed. "Wealth? Glory? I do not nothing for material gain. You know as well as I do that wealth was always a reality for our family. The Bunansas and the Solidors have run the politics of this empire for centuries. You are the genetic crafting of the two most influential families in the history of this nation. Ffamran, my undertakings are not for wealth, higher stakes are at play. I am on the path to putting history back into the reins of man!"

"It's true what they've been saying. You're going mad!"

Fran screamed again, this time falling to the floor on her back. Balthier dove to her side, lifting her head into his hand.

"What's wrong?" He said. "I'll get you out of here. I promise."

"The….machinery…." She choked out. "It's….sapping the Mist…from the human bodies…"

"What?" Balthier gasped.

"He's crafted a machine…that can suck the essence of life from living beings. The Mist is in pain…suffocating from this abuse."

Balthier turned his head towards Dr. Cid, while still cradling his companion's soft head. "So you know of this Mist?" He called. "And you're finding a way to use it to your own advantage!"

Dr. Cid smirked slightly, then released another hearty laugh. "Well done! Congratulations Ffamran! You've become one of the first Humes to know of the wonder that is Mist! The Vieras seem to be the only species still in tune with the phenomenon. When I traveled away a year ago I happened upon it. Such a brilliant asset. Yet one that none seem to have mastered. Well I'll be the first! But of course, in order to utilize such power you need to harness it! It's no coincidence that the water has been killing those filthy urchins of Lowtown. I poisoned it myself. You see Ffamran, Mist is Life. And thus, I need life to obtain it!"

"Damn you!" Balthier rocketed a shell towards Dr. Cid. It seemed likely that it would make contact, but it seemed to veer to the side at the last moment. Balthier groaned, firing another, but Dr. Cid quickly ran out of the way.

"Ah Ffamran, well I see that I've done such a terrible job as a father that you've seen fit to fire first upon me! Well, so be it! Deliver my condolences to your mother! Venat! Your assistance!"

Balthier had not the time to ponder his father strange entreaty. Suddenly, his father was vaulted into the air in a wide arch. He began showering bullets from his two pistols as he soared across the room. Balthier cursed, and buried his face into the ground, certain his fate had been met, but, a few breaths later, he noticed that he was still unscathed.

He opened his eyes to see a small golden field of light surrounding him.

"Fran!" He was elated. She had forced through her frenzy to create a small veil of protection around them.

"Balthier!" She choked out, her arms extended, straining to sustain her Magick. "The Mist emanating from your father is too powerful! I do not know where it is coming from, but we cannot stop it! We must leave this place!" Fran flinched. "I cannot sustain this shield for much longer!"

_Alright leading man, _Balthier urged himself, _Fran's taken her fair share of the effort, now you need to get us out of here_.

He reflexively lowered himself back to the ground when he felt another barrage of bullets smash against the Magick field built by Fran.

"Cute!" His father said from afar. "That creature's Magick is scarcely competition for the Mist I have at my disposal. I've grown fatigued with you meddling in my affairs Ffamran!" Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa roared, sending a wave of opaque golden light soaring across the vastness of the area. It tore right through Fran's field, knocking the two a few feet across the floor.

Fran shrieked again, in a tone that sounded quite more feral than Balthier would expect. Frantic, he began scanning his surroundings. All that was visible were merely the iron surfaces of the room, a spastic Fran, and an iniquitous father cackling at the top of his lungs, his power somehow increased by large machine lodged in the center of the room.

_Ah! Brilliant! _Balthier raised his shotgun as an idea burst into his mind.

"Hmph! Bullets will you yield you no success child!"

"Probably not father!" He screamed. "And I daresay the same goes for that metal monstrosity of yours!" Balthier pulled the trigger, sending a blast straight into one of the large tubes sapping Mist from the corpses. It shattered upon impact, sending extracted Mist spiraling into the air.

"No!" Dr. Cid thundered. Using Venat's power he propelled himself forward. His feet barely touched the ground as he sped towards his son.

Balthier in the meantime fired more and more shots at the tubes, as each one exploded, the radius of the blast extended further and further, demolishing even more conduits.

"You will not destroy my work!" The doctor was completely deranged, flying towards Balthier with an insuppressible fury. He was on the verge of firing another load of bullets when a whirlwind of fire erupted just within his vicinity, causing him to fall to the side with a yelp.

It was from Fran. The released Mist was no longer tortured, and thus her mind was able to achieve some level of peace one again.

"Welcome back, mi'lady," Balthier smiled.

"We've not time for pleasantries." She replied.

"Ever the businesswoman…"

"The Mist is livid! It is about to destroy this compartment! We make haste! Come!"

As if cued, the entire room began to rumble fiercely as if an earthquake boiled beneath the surface. The coffins began to crash against the ground accompanied by the remaining appendages of the machine. Fran had begun to run. Balthier hesitated, glancing around one last time to see if he could spot his mother's body. But a falling piece of debris flung him out of his thoughts, and he began to run behind Fran.

Dr. Cid climbed to his feet. "Dammit! Venat!" He stopped to regained his composure, sighing. "It seems our plans for manufacturing the Nethicite have been delayed. I suppose I owe more credence to my own son."

_There will be other avenues. _

"Yes." He took one last look at the crumbling space around him. "Let us leave. I WISH YOU THE BEST, BOY!"

And Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa laughed once again, a howl that reverberated through the air with the pace of insanity.

* * *

Fran and Balthier bolted through the underground corridors as debris smashed against the floors of the crumbling compound.

"Time is of the essence!" Fran hollered as she made a sharp turn around a corner and dodged a falling metal slab. "If we don't make it in time the lower levels of Draklor will collapse on our heads!"

"Thanks for the news! Do you think we'll make it?"

Fran pushed open the large steel door that led back into the airship hangar. The place was abandoned. Left to the sounding alarms, crumbling accouterments, and the large aircraft.

"I don't know," she said. "We must still make our way back through the waterways and finally back above ground."

"That'll take ages! We must find another way!"

"There is no—" Fran stopped. A rushing Balthier knocked into her backside.

"Fran! Dammit! Was it not you who said time is of the essence?"

"We've little of it." She turned her head towards Balthier and pointed at the airship. "You said you could fly that?"

Balthier scoffed and swallowed. "I said I took years of lessons! All simulations!"

Fran darted towards the ship, Balthier reluctantly followed. "I trust you were an adept student!" She said.

A large boulder smashed to the ground as the Viera scampered up a ramp leading to the door of the airship's Bridge. A small console stood on the platform adjacent to the door. She placed one of her long nails on its brightly lit control panel; a stream of holograms began to hover above it. One in particular read: ACCESS CODE

"A problem." She said simply.

Balthier arrived next to her. "Hm, this does pose a problem. This entire laboratory is managed by my father, I'm sure he has a universal password that gives him access to all parts of it." Balthier quickly begin typing in random associations with his father. Important dates, past project titles, terms related to significant events, and finally both Dr. Cid and his mother's name. Nothing worked. He began thinking of more obscure things of relevance. People and places from the few anecdotes his father might've shared with him. Sordid as their relationship was, Balthier did know a few of his father's favorite occupations and possessions. None of them seemed to work.

He grew frustrated, a sentiment that was punctuated with the increasing shockwaves of the rumbling compound.

Fran began to glow. "If we will not be allowed access, then force shall be necessary."

Balthier was just about to step back, when one final option popped into his head. A foolhardy venture, but it was a worth a try.

"Hold on Fran. Let me have one more go at it." With the skepticism one harbors for a fortune teller, he typed in, quickly:

F-F-A-M-R-A-N.

A click. The console glowed orange. _Welcome to YPA-GB47 Test Combat Fighter. Draklor Laboratories. Archadian Shipwright Guild Productions. S.S Strahl. Prototype. _

"Lovely." Fran said as she boarded the now open door to the airship's bridge.

Balthier stood momentarily. Shocked.

"Quite the revelation. A fitting way to see the final use of my birth name, I suppose."

"Balthier hurry!" Fran's voice carried through the air amidst the rattling of metal and earth.

"Coming, Fran." He said quietly. He jumped onto the ship and headed towards the cockpit.

The simulations swept back into his mind, fortunately, with familiarity.

"Can you get us out of here?" Fran asked.

"Yes." Balthier said confidently. "I can get us out of here. Brace yourself. We might meet with a few scrapes." He pushed a few buttons to open the hangar's entryway. Fran took her seat next to him and secured herself.

Balthier gripped the aircraft's steering.

_A mother who hung herself, and an ambiguous lunatic of a father_. He laughed. _It seems theatrics run in my genes_.

And with the push of a steering gear, the memory afforded from a privileged life's worth of flying lessons, and a little incredulousness—they were off.

* * *

**ATmac05: Thanks for reading! As always, please review review review. I appreciate them so much!**


	12. A Conversation

**ATmac05: Hey everyone! Last chapter! Appropriately enough, it's chapter 12! (That wasn't planned promise! Haha). I've had a really great experience writing this story. I feel like it has become some of my best work as a writer. And I'm grateful to you all for reading it, especially those of you who've dealt with not seeing an update for months! As a whole, I haven't been particularly enamored with FF12 as with other FF games, but I think that in Fran and Balthier Square Enix created wonderful characters who were very distinct and complex. I can only hope that this story has perhaps added a deeper layer to the characters for those of us who love them. If nothing else, I hope the story has been been an enjoyable experience even in it's own right. As always, review review review review review. If it's one word or a thousand words, I love to read what you guys think and how you feel about the story. So enjoy the final chapter of A Pleasant Lie. **

* * *

_**A Pleasant Lie Chapter Twelve**_

_**Pleasant Lies: A Conversation **_

* * *

The sky looks different, Balthier thought, when you are the one in command of it. On the ground, it was an expansive realm of possibility, an azure layer that dared one to reach it. A gaze at the sky, Balthier mused, usually forced an admittance of one's own lack of capability. The sky is a challenge, in that you are forced to realize its distance between itself and you. It is a mystery, for in its complexity of cirrus and stratus, of lighting and thunder, and of light and dark hues, you are forced to estimate its own intricacy and wonder. It is confining, because it will forever be a layer between you and another world. It is wedged between your reality, and a darker, deeper, even more complex horizon than you will scarcely reach in your lifetime. But, despite its "its," it reminded Humes of possibility. A frontier that if reached, will signify a great mastery of Ivalice. The sky might have been the limit, but it sparked dreams of being limitless. And so, unlimited, Balthier found himself soaring through a night sky speckled with stars and possibility, and he felt at home. At peace, one might say.

Fran had left the cockpit shortly after their launch, once her psyche had resolved that being in an airship with Balthier at the helm _was_ actually safer then being in the collapsing cellar of a laboratory. Much to her delight, she had stumbled upon the captain's quarters at the back of the small aircraft. The room was simple and pragmatic. A bed of white sheets with two pillows. A small desk. A door which led presumably led to some type of bathroom. A closet, built into the wall. And a mirror, which sat atop the desk. All was iron (except for the bed). All was quiet.

It was the mirror that attracted Fran, not because of vanity, but for nostalgia, for the last time she had peacefully found herself in a room alone with a mirror was back in her Hollow in Eruyt Village. As she sat in front of it, she remembered how she used to view herself in adolescence; phrases came to mind. Optimistically naïve. Obstinately vain. Curiously rebellious. Even in her teenage years, she had been able to notice the contradiction in her own way of life. She challenged everything from her cultural heritage, customs, to even her sister Jote's life goals. She smiled to herself. How fearless youth can be! She thought. For she had challenged the contradictions in the society around her, but had no good reason why. Now aged, she knew that to encounter hypocrisy was not to rebel or revolutionize. Quite the opposite, to notice hypocrisy was a testament of one's own heightened awareness, and that alone is satisfactory for the old. But not to the young. As a child, she had been a purist. Hypocrisy meant revolution. And when she could not revolutionize, she fled. Alone, but free.

It suddenly occurred to Balthier, as he began to look for the ship's autopilot, that he was now an orphan. Not technically, of course, for his father was still alive, but emotionally he was now in charge of his own parentage. Even though his relationship with his mother had solely consisted of his disrespect and his general dissatisfaction with her, his tension with her provided constancy that wrapped neatly into his identity. He liked to think of himself as a dashing debonair rebel, a suave aesthete who made ladies swoon with his turn of phrase while besmirching authority with the essence of his crystalline swagger. The Leading Man, as he often referred to himself. But the leading man always needs a foil, a villain. Therefore, those who would fulfill the "villain" category, be they Archadian authority, an unruly Bangaa bandit, or his crazed father, greatly contributed to his own conceptions. His mother, though he quite disliked her, helped him to understand how he viewed himself. He might not of liked her very much, but he loved her dearly. He knew that mothers always had a way of reminding children who they are, explicitly or otherwise.

What had become of her past? Fran wondered. Had Jote now become a priestess, as she so desired? No, of course she had, Jote was much too dedicated to her craft to have abandoned it. The hypocrisy had worked for her. The Wood treated her well, because she was unafraid to shield her eyes to truth in order to obtain happiness. Vieras are very practical, in that sense; they do exactly what they need to do in order to survive. Dreams, potential, and individuality—those are Hume values. Fran was not assigning blame, however. It is the determinism of the Viera's that keeps them grounded, efficient, adaptable, prosperous, and for the most part happy. It is the Humes' inability to view boundaries that often times leads to their corruption and demise. Though, having seen the world outside Eruyt, Fran knew that dreaming led to inspiration, and thus to innovation. The Hume world is relentlessly imperfect, draining, impractical, directionless, and contentious—but beautiful. A place where many feel that they have destinies, even when their reality is dire. Deluded, some might say, but Fran would never trade the delusion of destiny for the sterile reality of determinism. In fact, both are necessary to be whole.

"Ah, there you are." Balthier clicked on the autopilot. All was going smoothly. Who knew that he could actually fly an airship? Perhaps his dreams of becoming a sky pirate would not be so far away after all. The next step would be to enlighten Fran about his ideas of valiant pilfering—but he was unsure if she would consent to his imagined lifestyle. In all honesty, he was quite unsure about _most_ things that situated themselves in relation to Fran. They had grown close over the past few weeks, but there was so little that he still did not know of her. Her past. Her motivations. Her business with his father had been activism, yet now that that fiasco was now resolved (provisionally), where would they go now?

Much more importantly, would they go together? Balthier silently (but ardently) hoped that she would not soon ask him to land in some nearby town so that they might part ways. For he was enveloped with a stubborn infatuation with this Viera. A hint of exoticism was nestled in his admiration for her, and he knew that was wrong, but how else could he describe this lovely creature, but exotic? Her body encapsulated the very essence of femininity, curves and loins that blended together to coalesce into a picturesque figurine that could only be described as ecstatic. He dreamed of himself within herself. Exploring the mystery that she was. Wrapped in her ambiguity.

But he would be denying himself truth if he merely reduced her to the sum of her parts. Her attraction lay in her phenotype, but her intensity and complexity in her mind. Her true beauty would be found in what to some would appear to be a distant stoicism. But Balthier knew that she was immensely thoughtful and intimately intuitive. Whether it was her experiential wisdom, mystic fraternization with the Mist, or ability to fell even the most daunting of foes, Balthier knew that he could not be without her presence in his life. He knew that he would never find another woman— if he must confine her to a term—with enough depth to excite him in the ways she had.

"You appear lost in thought," said the depth in question.

Balthier had been lost in his imagination in the pilot's seat, and jumped when he discovered that the object his desires had left the quarters.

He stuttered. "Oh—uh—ah—hello Fran, you startled me a bit."

Fran elicited a cheerful but dignified giggle. "That's an emotion I've yet to find on you."

It was Balthier's turn for dignified laughter. "Ha! Well, it's a unflattering emotion, I'll henceforth be sure to stifle it."

The Hume youth amused Fran. And she was much older than perhaps her appearance suggested, so of course she was well aware of Balthier's crush. She had been for quiet some time, but the other goals of present moments had kept her from reacting to it. A history of Hume men manifested itself as ambivalence for Fran when it came to Balthier. In her own youth, she remembered how her best friend Relj's duplicitous relationship with a Hume had led to her expulsion from Eruyt. In the Wood's prison she had encountered Yimenari, a woman who intimated that Fran's own mother had perhaps abandoned her children in order to live with a Hume man. And Fran herself, upon leaving Eruyt, had had her fair share of Hume men. They seemed to love the mystery and "otherness" of a Viera. It was as though the idea of a presumed all-female race excited them. Fran had discerned that Hume men believed that Vieras were somehow the purest form of femininity; creatures devoid of complexity and history, and rather were just creatures crafted to suit their finest fantasies.

Of course, their passions were ignited because of the myths created by Humes, since Vieras did not often bother themselves to clear up any confusion. Balthier, Fran feared, was not quite as estranged from the preconceptions of most men. He was absolutely endearing, she had to admit, and had a capacity for understanding that was scarcely found in most Humes. But he was also young. If Fran dared to permit herself attention to Balthier's whims, he would have to be a much older, if not a little older.

Balthier at that point smiled at her, and an internal glow drifted through his eyes and along his cheekbones. His magnetism touched a special place in her heart, and overwhelmed with a brief moment of affection, she forced her face to retreat to that indiscernible blank stare. The young orphan continued to smile and made some witty retort about the airship controls, and Fran was softened. She suddenly felt young, as if the wounds of her past were mere scratches waiting to be bandaged.

_Jote would kill me. _She thought. Suddenly, she found herself at a crossroads, and as many who find themselves in the same place do, she ventured a question.

"So Balthier," her lisp echoed, "what are you to do now? Surely you cannot return home."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well—since you asked, I might tell you. Upon one condition."

Stipulations, another trait of Hume men. "What is it?" She asked.

"When I tell you want I want to do, you have to promise to stay with me."

A brief pause of shared gazes. She looked at him with emotionless eyes, flattered, feeling loved, but skeptical. Balthier looked back, abashedly anxious, and eyes wide. What would she say? He never considered himself a romantic, but he hoped that she would take this opportunity to spend an eternity with him. It dawned on Fran that Balthier was also young, and had no family, nor home, he was who she had been when she left Eruyt. Her conscience would not allow her to force the young man to face the harshness of reality in solitude, and with a sigh and downward look, she replied:

"Fine," she folded her arms. "But what is it that you want to do?"

Balthier was elated to the bottom of his heart. His wit, nor his words, could dare describe the complexity of his emotions. "Well!" He chimed with excitement, "this might sound a bit—fanciful—but I want to become a sky pirate!"

Fran stared blankly for a while, but resolved to throw up her hands and with a quick flourish turned around. She was dumbfounded but amused.

"You take me for an idiot." She sang. "I do not condone thievery of any sort, and you will hardly be the first to alter my disposition." She begin to head back towards the Captain's Quarters quickly, the sound of her heels clicking against the ships metallic floor.

"Now Fran! Wait!" He hurried after her. "I know it sounds a tad unrealistic. But what more suitable a position for a young lad as brave and gallant as I?"

Fran could not help but laugh. "Pleasant as your image of yourself seems to be, you are woefully misdirected, and are unequivocally, unquestionably, lying to yourself!"

And with the significance of an empowering lie, a new chapter in Fran's life began. She had left the theocratic lie of her homeland for the lie of Hume reality. There she had encountered Balthier, who was dealing with the lies created by wealth, negligent parents, and with the lies of a wretched father. Her life, and his, had been spent battling with the illusions created by lies of immeasurable anguish and corruption. Yet now, as the optimistic Balthier was quick to reveal, sometimes the most significant lies are the ones we tell ourselves in order to sustain hope in our own lives. Relj had lied to herself to believe in a Hume man who she felt had loved her. Yimenari had lied to herself to continue to find love when it had abandoned her. Alvaria had lied to herself to resist a crumbling household. And now, Balthier was lying to himself in creating a new image meant to rebut against the perils of an old one. What would become of his lie? And Fran, she was constantly lying to herself, believing that perhaps, even though she left her home life behind for a world that was no less callous—she was still in a better place that would allow her to reach her full potential. When we dream that we can achieve greater than what our lives dictate, when we leave detrimental pasts behind for the hope of better futures, when we reject the judgments of others put upon us—are these not smaller, more masterful, purposeful, lies? Lies meant to make us stronger—because within the lie, there is a small path to a truth that we might amass for ourselves?

It is for these reasons, that years later, when Fran would reunite with Jote, she would ask her sister if the Wood hates her for abandoning it. It is for these reasons that Jote will say that the Wood still calls out to Fran, after all those years. And it is for these reasons, that, when Fran hears her sister's ameliorating yet untrue response, she will respond:

"A pleasant lie, that."

Lies and all, Balthier and Fran were embarking on a new life together. One of losses and victories. Metallurgy and lore. Of kings and princesses. Heroes and villains. There will be many lies—but of course, many pleasantries.

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**ATmac05: Thanks so much for reading. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. And if you have any unanswered questions don't hesitate to email me. **


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